IN  THE 
SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 


BY 

GEORGE  C.  SHEDD 

AUTHOR  OP 
"THE  IADY  OF  MYSTEBY  HOUSE,"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 
THE  MACAULAY  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1919, 
BY  THE  MACAULAY  COMPANY 


OOPTBIGHT,    1919,    BT  THK   FBANK  A.   M UNSET   CO. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PACK 

I  IN  A  HOSTILE  COUNTBY 11 

II  A  COMEDY — AND  SOMETHING  ELSE 23 

III  THE  ENEMY'S  SPAWN 34 

IV  A  SECRET  CONFERENCE 42 

V  A  SHOT  IN  THE  DARK 53 

VI  JANET  HOSMER 64 

VII  IN  THE  COIL 75 

Vm  THE  GATHERING  STORM 83 

IX  AN  UNEXPECTED  ALLY       91 

X  BY  RIGHT  OF  POSSESSION 99 

XI  JANET  AND  MARY 107 

XH  THE  PLOT 116 

XIII  THE  CURRENT  OF  EVENTS 121 

XIV  OLD  SAUREZ'  DEPOSITION 135 

XV  THE  MASK  DROPPED 145 

XVI  WEIR  TAKES  UP  THE  HUNT 158 

XVII  EARTH'S  RETRIBUTION 167 

XVLII  IN  THE  NIGHT  WATCHES 177 

XIX  A  QUEER  PAPER 189 

XX  ANXIETIES 197 

XXI  THE  WEAK  LINK 209 

XXH  AN  OLD  ADOBE  HOUSE 219 

XXHI  WITH  FANGS  BARED 226 

XXIV  THE  ALARM 238 

XXV  No  QUARTER 248 

XXVI  THE  THUNDERBOLT 256 

XXVH  WEIR  STRIKES  WHILE  THE  IRON  is  HOT 261 

XXVHI  VORSE. 270 

XXIX  THE  FOURTH  MAN 279 

XXX  THE  VICTOR 286 

XXXI  A  FINAL  CHALLENGE 294 

XXXH  THE  RECLUSB 304 

XXXIH  UNDER  THE  MOON    ,                                                          .  314 


2132754 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF 
THE  HILLS 


CHAPTER  I 

IN  A  HOSTILE   COUNTRY 

EASTWARD  out  of  the  Torquilla  Range  the  Burntwood 
River  emerged  from  a  gorge,  flowing  swift  and  turbu- 
lent during  the  spring  months,  shallow  and  murmurous 
the  rest  of  the  year,  to  pass  through  a  basin  formed 
by  low  mountains  and  break  forth  at  last  from  a  can- 
yon and  wind  away  over  the  mesa.  In  the  canyon  was 
being  erected  the  huge  reservoir  dam  which  was  in  the 
future  to  store  water  for  irrigating  the  broad  acres 
spreading  from  its  base. 

The  construction  camp  rested  on  one  of  the  hillsides 
above  the  dam.  And  here  one  summer  afternoon  a  man 
stepped  forth  from  the  long  low  tar-papered  shack  that 
served  as  headquarters,  directing  his  gaze  down  the  road 
across  the  mesa  at  a  departing  automobile.  He  was 
Steele  Weir,  the  new  chief,  a  tall,  strong,  tanned  man  of 
thirty-five,  with  lean  smooth-shaven  face,  a  straight 
heavy  nose,  mouth  that  by  habit  was  set  in  grim  Lines, 
and  heavy  brows  under  which  ruled  cold,  level,  insistent, 
gray  eyes.  He  had  come  suddenly,  unexpectedly,  re- 
turning with  Magney,  the  engineer  in  charge,  when  the 
latter  had  been  summoned  east  for  a  conference  with 

11 

\ 


12     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

the  company's  directors.  He  had  replaced  Magney, 
who  was  now  whirling  away  to  the  nearest  railway 
point,  Bowenville,  thirty-five  miles  distant. 

He  thoughtfully  watched  the  car,  a  black  spot  in  a 
haze  of  dust,  speeding  towards  the  New  Mexican  town 
of  San  Mateo,  on  the  Burntwood  River  two  miles  below 
camp,  its  cluster  of  brown  adobe  houses  showing  indis- 
tinctly through  the  cottonwoods  that  embowered  the 
place.  For  Magney  he  felt  a  certain  amount  of  sym- 
pathy, for  the  engineer  was  leaving  with  a  recognition 
of  defeat;  he  was  a  likeable  man,  as  Steele  Weir  had 
discovered  during  their  brief  acquaintance,  a  good  theo- 
retical engineer,  but  lacking  in  the  prime  quality  of  a 
successful  chief — fighting  spirit  and  an  indomitable  will. 

Under  Magney  the  work  of  construction  had  been  in- 
augurated the  previous  summer,  but  progress  had  not 
been  as  rapid  as  desired;  there  had  been  delays,  labor 
difficulties,  local  opposition  during  the  months  since; 
and  Weir  had  been  chosen  to  succeed  Magney.  In  his 
profession  Weir  had  a  reputation,  built  on  relentless  toil 
and  sound  ideas  and  daring  achievements — a  reputation 
enhanced  by  a  character  of  mystery,  for  the  man  was 
unmarried,  reserved,  without  intimates  or  even  friends, 
locking  his  lips  about  his  life,  and  welcoming  and  execut- 
ing with  grim  indifference  to  risk  engineering  commis- 
sions of  extreme  hazard,  on  which  account  he  had  ac- 
quired the  soubriquet  of  "Cold  Steel"  Weir. 

Who  first  bestowed  upon  Weir  that  name  is  not 
known.  But  it  was  not  misapplied.  Cold  steel  he  had 
proved  himself  to  be  a  score  of  times  in  critical  moments 
when  other  men  would  have  broken:  in  pushing  bridges 
over  mountain  chasms,  in  mine  disasters,  in  strikes,  in 
almost  hopeless  fights  against  bandits  in  Mexico.  And 
it  was  this  ability  to  handle  difficulties  that  had  brought 


IN  A  HOSTILE  COUNTRY         13 

about  the  decision  of  the  directors  of  the  company  to 
put  him  in  charge,  as  the  man  best  qualified,  at  San 
Mateo,  where  the  situation  was  unsatisfactory,  costly, 
baffling. 

Since  his  arrival  a  week  before  he  had  been  consult- 
ing with  Magney,  studying  maps  and  blue-prints,  exam- 
ining the  work  and  analyzing  general  conditions.  What 
had  been  accomplished  had  been  well  done;  he  had  no 
criticism  to  offer  on  that  score.  It  was  the  delay;  the 
work  was  considerably  behind  schedule,  which  of  course 
meant  excessive  cost ;  and  this  had  undermined  the  spirit 
of  the  enterprise.  In  a  dozen  places,  in  a  dozen  ways, 
Magney,  his  predecessor,  had  been  hampered,  checked, 
defeated — and  the  main  contributing  cause  was  poor 
workmen,  inefficient  work.  On  that  sore  Weir's  skillful 
finger  fell  at  once. 

Standing  there  before  the  low  office  building  he 
watched  Magney  depart.  He,  Steele  Weir,  had  now 
taken  over  full  charge  of  the  camp  and  assumed  full  re- 
sponsibility for  the  project's  failure  or  success.  His  eye 
passed  beyond  the  distant  automobile  to  the  town  of 
San  Mateo — a  new  town  for  him,  but  a  town  like  many 
he  had  seen  in  the  southwest  and  in  Mexico.  And  aside 
from  its  connection  with  the  construction  work,  it  held 
a  fascinating  interest,  a  profound  interest  for  the  man, 
the  interest  that  any  spot  would  which  has  at  a  distance 
cast  a  black  and  sinister  shadow  over  one's  life.  San 
Mateo — the  name  lay  like  a  smoldering  coal  in  his 
breast ! 

At  length  he  turned  and  strode  down  the  hillside  to 
the  dam  site  in  the  canyon.  The  time  had  come  to  shut 
his  hand  about  the  work  and  let  his  hold  be  felt.  He  lo- 
cated the  superintendent  directing  the  pouring  of  con- 
crete in  the  frames  of  the  dam  core,  Atkinson,  a  man 


14     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

of  fifty  with  a  stubby  gray  mustache,  a  wind-bitten  face 
and  a  tall  angular  frame.  When  Weir  joined  him  he 
was  observing  with  speculative  eyes  the  indolent  move- 
ments of  a  group  of  Mexican  laborers. 

"Those  hombres  don't   appear   to   be  breaking  any 
speed  records,  I  see,"  Weir  remarked,  quietly. 
"Humph,"  Atkinson  grunted. 
"What  do  they  think  this  is?    A  rest  cure?" 
The  superintendent's  silence  suddenly  gave  way. 
"I  ought  to  land  on  'em  with  an  ax-handle  and  put 
the  fear  of  God  in  their  lazy  souls,"  he  exclaimed,  bit- 
terly. 

'Well,  do  it." 
"What!" 
"Do  it." 

"Say,  am  I  hearing  right?"  Atkinson  swung  fully 
about  to  stare  at  the  new  chief.  Then  he  went  on, 
"They'd  quit  to  a  man  if  made  to  do  a  man's  work;  I 
supposed  that  Magney  had  told  you  that.  A  dozen 
times  I've  been  ready  to  throw  up  my  job  from  self- 
respect;  I'm  ashamed  to  boss  work  where  men  can  loaf 
and  I  must  keep  my  tongue  between  my  teeth.  I  was 
considering  just  now  the  matter  of  leaving." 

"No  need,  Atkinson.  From  this  time  these  men  will 
work  or  get  their  dismissal." 

The  other  pushed  his  hat  atilt  and  rubbed  his  head 
in  surprise. 

"What  about  that  'company  policy'  of  hiring  noth- 
ing but  local  labor  to  keep  the  community  friendly  which 
Magney  was  always  kicking  about?"  he  asked.  "That 
was  what  made  him  sorer  than  anything  else,  and  beat 
him.  He  said  the  directors  had  tied  his  hands  by  prom- 
ising that  no  workmen  should  be  imported.  If  they 


IN  A  HOSTILE  COUNTRY          15 

promised  that,  they  sure  bunkoed  themselves.  Friendly, 
huh." 

"The  people  haven't  been  friendly,  eh?"  Weir  said. 

"Does  it  look  like  it  when  these  Mexicans  won't  work 
enough  to  earn  their  salt?  They  openly  boast  that  we 
dare  neither  make  them  work  nor  fire  them.  They  say 
Sorenson  and  his  bunch  will  pull  every  man  off  the  works 
if  we  lift  a  finger;  and  they  all  know  about  that  fool 
promise  of  the  directors.  Friendly?  Just  about  as 
friendly  as  a  bunch  of  wildcats.  This  whole  section, 
white  men  and  Mexicans,  are  putting  a  knife  into  this 
project  whenever  they  can.  Do  you  think  they  want 
all  that  mesa  fenced  up  and  farmed?  This  is  a  range 
country ;  they  propose  to  keep  it  range ;  they  don't  want 
any  more  people  coming  here — farmers,  store-keepers, 
and  white  people  generally." 

"That's  always  the  case  in  a  range  country  before  it's 
opened  up,"  Weir  said.  "But  they  have  to  swallow  the 
pill." 

"Let  me  tell  you  something;  they  don't  intend  to 
swallow  it  here.  They  figure  on  keeping  this  county 
just  as  it  is,  for  only  themselves  and  their  cattle  and 
woolies,  and  everybody  else  keep  out.  The  few  big 
sheep  and  cattle  men,  white  and  Mex,  have  their  minds 
made  up  to  that,  and  they're  the  only  ones  who  count; 
all  the  rest  are  poor  Mexicans  with  nothing  but  fleas, 
children,  goats  and  votes  to  keep  Sorenson  and,  his  gang 
in  control.  They've  set  out  to  bust  this  company,  or 
tire  it  out  till  it  throws  up  the  sponge.  They've  spiked 
Magney,  and  they'll  try  to  spike  you  next,  and  every 
manager  who  comes.  That's  plain  talk  I'm  giving  you, 
Mr.  Weir,  but  it's  fact;  and  if  it  doesn't  sound  nice  to 
your  ears,  you  can  have  my  resignation  any  minute." 

"I've  been  hoping  to  hear  it.    From  now  on  drive  this 


16     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

crowd  of  coffee-colored  loafers.  Put  the  lash  on  their 
backs." 

A  gleam  of  unholy  joy  shone  in  Atkinson's  eyes  as 
he  heard  Weir's  words. 

"All  right;  that  goes,"  he  said.  "But  I'm  warning 
you  that  they'll  quit.  You'll  see  'em  stringing  out  of 
camp  for  home  to-night,  and  those  who  hang  out  till 
to-morrow  will  leave  then  for  sure.  By  to-morrow  night 
the  dam  will  be  as  quiet  as  a  church  week-days.  They'll 
not  show  up  again,  either,  until  you  send  word  for  them 
to  come  back — and  then  they'll  know  you've  surren- 
dered. Magney  tried  it  once,  just  once.  And  that's 
why  you  found  me  chewing  tobacco  so  lamb-like  and 
saying  nothing." 

"Turn  your  gat  loose,"  Weir  said.  And  turning  on 
his  heel,  he  went  back  to  headquarters. 

Before  Atkinson  fired  a  volley  at  the  unsuspecting 
workmen  he  crossed  the  canyon  to  where  a  cub  engi- 
neer was  peering  through  a  transit.  The  superintendent 
had  overheard  a  scrap  of  gossip  among  the  staff  one 
evening  before  Weir's  arrival  when  they  were  discussing 
the  advent  of  the  new  chief. 

"What  was  that  name  you  fellows  were  saying  Weir 
was  called  by?"  he  asked. 

The  boy  straightened  up. 

"'Cold  Steel'— 'Cold  Steel'  Weir.  Anyway  that's 
what  Fergueson  says,"  was  the  answer.  "I  never  heard 
it  before  myself.  His  first  name's  Steele,  you  know,  and 
he  looks  cold  enough  to  be  ice  when  he's  asking  ques- 
tions about  things,  boring  into  a  fellow  with  his  eyes. 
But  he's  up  against  a  hard  game  here." 

"Maybe.  But  a  man  doesn't  get  a  name  like  that 
for  just  parting  his  hair  nice,"  Atkinson  remarked. 
"He  told  me  to  stretch  'em" — a  horny  thumb  jerked 


IN  A  HOSTILE  COUNTRY         17 

towards  the  workmen — "and  you'll  see  some  real  work 
hereabouts  for  the  rest  of  the  afternoon." 

"And  to-morrow  will  be  Sunday  three  days  ahead  of 
time." 

"Sure." 

"What  then?" 

"You  know  as  much  about  that  as  I  do.  Make  your 
own  guess."  With  which  the  speaker  started  off. 

The  morrow  was  "Sunday"  with  a  vengeance.  The 
majority  of  the  laborers  demanded  their  pay  checks  the 
minute  work  ceased  at  the  end  of  the  afternoon ;  Atkin- 
son tightened  orders,  and  by  noon  next  day  the  last  of 
the  Mexicans  had  quit.  The  fires  in  the  stationary  en- 
gines were  banked;  the  concrete  mixers  did  not  revolve; 
the  conveyers  were  still;  the  dam  site  wore  an  air  of 
abandonment.  In  headquarters  the  engineers  worked 
over  tracings  or  notes ;  and  in  the  commissary  store  the 
half-dozen  white  foremen  gathered  to  smoke  and  yarn. 
That  was  the  extent  of  the  activity. 

Two  days  passed.  After  dinner  Weir  held  a  terse 
long-distance  telephone  conversation,  the  only  incident 
of  the  second  day ;  and  it  was  overheard  by  no  one.  On 
the  fourth  day  this  was  repeated.  At  dawn  of  the  fifth 
he  despatched  all  of  the  foremen,  enginemen  and  engi- 
neers with  wagons  to  Bowenville;  and  about  the  middle 
of  the  afternoon,  accompanied  by  his  assistant,  Meyers, 
and  Atkinson,  he  sped  in  the  manager's  car  down  the 
river  for  San  Mateo,  two  miles  below  the  camp. 

Of  the  town  Steele  Weir  had  had  but  a  glimpse  as  he 
flashed  through  on  his  way  to  the  dam  the  morning  of 
his  arrival  twelve  days  earlier.  It  had  but  a  single 
main  street,  from  which  littered  side  streets  and  alleys 
ran  off  between  mud  walls  of  houses.  The  county  court 
house  sat  among  cottonwood  trees  in  an  open  space.  A 


18    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

few  pretentious  dwellings,  homes  of  white  men  and  the 
well-to-do  Mexicans,  arose  among  long  low  adobe  struc- 
tures that  were  as  brown  and  characterless  as  the  sun- 
dried  bricks  of  which  they  were  built.  That  was  San 
Mateo. 

Before  doors  and  everywhere  along  the  street  work- 
men from  the  dam  were  idling.  As  Meyers  brought  the 
automobile  to  a  stop  before  the  court  house,  news  of 
Weir's  visit  spread  miraculously  and  Mexicans  began  to 
saunter  forward  to  hear  the  engineer's  words  of  sur- 
render, couched  in  the  form  of  a  suave  invitation  to  re- 
turn to  work.  While  the  crowd  gathered  the  three 
Americans  sat  quietly  in  the  car.  Then  Steele  Weir 
stood  up. 

"Who  can  speak  for  these  men?"  he  demanded. 

A  lean  Mexican  with  a  long  shiny  black  mustache 
and  a  thin  neck  protruding  from  a  soiled  linen  collar 
elbowed  a  way  to  the  front. 

"I'm  authorized  to  speak  for  them,"  he  announced, 
disclosing  his  white  teeth  in  an  engaging  smile. 

"Are  you  one  of  the  workmen?" 

"No.  I'm  a  lawyer  and  represent  them  in  this  con- 
troversy. By  your  favor  therefore  let  us  proceed. 
You've  come  to  persuade  them  to  resume  work,  and  that 
is  well.  But  there  are  conditions  to  be  agreed  upon 
before  they  return,  which  with  your  permission  I  shall 
state — first,  no  harsh  driving  of  the  workmen  by  fore- 
men; second,  full  wages  for  the  days  they  have  been 
idle ;  third,  no  Sunday  work." 

The  engineer  regarded  the  speaker  without  change  of 
countenance. 

"Have  you  finished?"  he  asked. 

"Yes.  There  are  minor  matters,  but  they  can  be 
adjusted  later.  These  are  the  important  points." 


IN  A  HOSTILE  COUNTRY         19 

"Very  well,  this  is  my  reply:  I,  not  the  workmen, 
make  the  terms  for  work  on  this  job — I,  not  these  men, 
name  the  conditions  on  which  they  may  return.  And 
they  are  as  follows:  no  pay  fop  the  idle  days;  if  the 
workmen  return  they  agree  to  work  as  ordered  by  su- 
perintendent and  foremen;  and  last,  they  must  start 
for  the  dam  within  an  hour  or  not  at  all." 

Incredulity,  amazement  rested  on  the  Mexican  spokes- 
man's face  as  he  listened  to  this  curt  rejoinder. 

"Preposterous,  impossible,  absurd  P'  he  exclaimed. 
Then  revolving  on  his  heels  so  as  to  face  the  crowd  he 
swiftly  repeated  in  Spanish  what  Weir  had  said. 

An  angry  stir  followed,  murmurs,  sullen  looks,  a  num- 
ber of  oaths  and  jeers.  The  lawyer  turned  again  to  the 
engineer,  spreading  his  hands  in  a  wide  gesture  and  lift- 
ing his  brows  with  exaggerated  significance. 

"You  see,  Mr.  Weir,  your  position  is  hopeless,"  he 
remarked. 

"Ask  them  if  they  definitely  refuse." 

The  lawyer  put  the  question  to  the  crowd.  A  chorus 
of  shouts  vehemently  gave  affirmation — a  refusal  imme- 
diate, disdainful,  unanimous. 

"We'll  now  discuss  the  men's  terms,"  the  lawyer  re- 
marked politely  and  with  an  air  of  satisfaction. 

"There's  nothing  more  to  discuss.  The  matter  is 
settled.  They  have  refused;  they  need  not  seek  work 
at  the  dam  again.  Start  the  car,  Meyers." 

The  roar  of  the  machine  drowned  the  indignant  law- 
yer's protest,  the  crowd  hastened  to  give  an  opening 
and  the  conference  was  at  an  end. 

"Drive  to  Vorse's  saloon;  I  want  a  look  at  Vorse," 
said  Weir.  "I  see  the  place  a  short  way  ahead." 

When  they  entered  the  long  low  adobe  building  an 
anemic-appearing  Mexican  standing  at  the  far  end  of 


20     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

the  bar  languidly  started  forward  to  serve  them,  but  a 
bald-headed,  hawk-nosed  man  seated  at  a  desk  behind 
the  cigar-case  laid  aside  his  newspaper,  arose  and 
checked  the  other  by  a  sidewise  jerk  of  his  head. 

He  received  their  orders  for  beer  and  lifted  three  drip- 
ping bottles  from  a  tub  of  water  at  his  feet.  His  eyes 
passed  casually  over  Steele  Weir's  face,  glanced  away, 
then  came  back  for  a  swift  unblinking  scrutiny.  The 
eyes  his  own  met  were  as  hard,  stony  and  inscrutable 
as  his  own.  Finally  Vorse,  the  saloonkeeper,  turned 
his  gaze  towards  the  window  and  extracting  a  quill 
tooth-pick  from  a  vest  pocket  began  thoughtfully  to 
pick  his  teeth. 

"You're  the  new  manager  at  the  dam?"  he  asked 
presently,  still  considering  the  street  through  the  win- 
dow. 

"I  am." 

"And  your  name  is  Weir?" 

"You've  got  it  right." 

The  questions  ended  there.  The  three  men  from  camp 
slowly  consumed  their  beer  and  exchanged  indifferent 
remarks.  At  the  end  of  five  minutes  the  Mexican  lawyer, 
clutching  the  arm  of  an  elderly,  gray-mustached  man, 
entered  the  saloon. 

They  lined  up  at  the  bar  nearby  the  others.  The  older 
of  the  pair  regarded  the  trio  shrewdly,  laid  a  calf -bound 
book  that  he  carried  under  his  arm  upon  the  counter 
and  ordered  "a  little  bourbon."  When  he  had  swal- 
lowed this,  he  addressed  the  men  from  the  engineering 
camp. 

"Which  of  you  is  Mr.  Weir?" 

"I  am  he,"  Steele  replied. 

"Mr.  Martinez  here  has  solicited  me,  Mr.  Weir,  to  use 
my  offices  in  explaining  to  you  the  workmen's  point  of 


IN  A  HOSTILE  COUNTRY         21 

view  in  the  controversy  that  exists  relative  to  the  work. 
I'm  Senator  Gordon,  a  member  of  the  state  legislature,, 
and  I  have  no  interest  in  the  matter  beyond  seeing  an 
amicable  and  just  arrangement  effected." 

Steele  Weir  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  speaker  with  an  in- 
tentness,  a  cold  penetration,  that  seemed  to  bore  to  the 
very  recesses  of  his  mind.  In  that  look  there  was  some- 
thing questioning  and  something  menacing. 

"There's  no  controversy  and  hence  no  need  of  your 
services.  The  men  stopped  work,  refused  to  return,  and 
now  the  case  is  closed." 

"My  dear  sir,  let  us  talk  it  over,"  said  the  Senator, 
bringing  forth  a  pair  of  spectacles  and  setting  the  bow 
upon  his  nose. 

The  engineer's  visage  failed  to  relax  at  this  pacific 
proposal. 

"I  gave  them  their  chance  and  they  declined;  they'll 
have  no  other,"  he  stated.  "Those  men  have  browbeaten 
the  company  long  enough.  They  refused,  and  as  I  an- 
ticipated that  refusal  I  made  preparations  accordingly; 
a  hundred  and  fifty  white  workmen  arrived  at  Bowenville 
from  Denver  this  morning  and  a  hundred  and  fifty  more 
will  come  to-morrow.  They  will  do  the  work." 

The  Senator's  lips  quivered  and  the  upper  one  lifted 
in  a  movement  like  a  snarl,  showing  tobacco-stained 
teeth. 

"The  matter  isn't  closed,  understand  that,"  he 
snapped  out.  "We  have  the  directors'  promise  no  out- 
side labor  shall  be  brought  in  here  for  this  job,  and  the 
promise  shall  be  kept." 

"The  new  men  go  to  work  in  the  morning,"  Weir  said. 

"You'll  repent  of  this  action,  young  man,  you'll  re- 
pent of  it."  The  Senator  seized  the  whisky  bottle  and 


22     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 


angrily  poured  himself  a  second  drink.  "You'll  repent 
of  it  as  sure  as  your  name  is — is — whatever  it  is." 

The  engineer  took  a  step  nearer  the  older  man.  His 
face  now  was  as  hard  as  granite. 

"Weir  is  my  name,"  he  said.  "Did  you  ever  hear  it 
before?" 

"Weir — Weir?"  came  in  a  questioning  mutter. 

"Yes,  Weir." 

The  speaker's  eyes  held  the  Senator's  in  savage  leash, 
and  a  slight  tremble  presently  began  to  shake  the  old 
man.  Atkinson  and  Meyers  and  even  the  volatile  Mexi- 
can lawyer,  Martinez,  remained  unstirring,  for  in  the 
situation  they  suddenly  sensed  something  beyond  their 
ken,  some  current  of  deep  unknown  forces,  some  play  of 
fierce,  obscure  and  fateful  passion. 

A  shadow  of  gray  stole  over  Gordon's  lineaments. 

"You  are — are  the  son  of "  came  gasping  forth. 

"I  am.     His  son." 

"And— and " 

"And  I  know  what  happened  thirty  years  ago  in  this 
selfsame  room!"  • 

The  whisky  that  the  Senator  had  poured  into  his 
glass  suddenly  slopped  over  his  fingers;  his  figure  all 
at  once  appeared  more  aged,  hollow,  bent.  Without 
further  word,  with  his  hand  still  shaking,  he  set  the 
glass  on  the  bar,  mechanically  picked  up  the  law  book 
and  walked  feebly  towards  the  door. 

Steele  Weir  turned  his  gaze  on  the  saloonkeeper, 
Vorse.  The  man's  right  hand  was  under  the  bar  and 
he  seemed  to  be  awaiting  the  engineer's  nert  move,  taut, 
tight-lipped,  malignant. 

"That  was  for  you  too,  Vorse,"  was  flung  at  him. 
"One  Weir  went  out  of  here,  but  another  has  returned." 

And  he  led  his  companions  away. 


CHAPTER  II 

A    COMEDT AND    SOMETHING    KLSE 

TOWARDS  noon  one  day  a  week  later  Steele  Weir, 
headed  for  Bowenville  in  his  car,  had  gained  Chico 
Creek,  half  way  between  camp  and  San  Mateo,  when  he 
perceived  that  another  machine  blocked  the  ford.  About 
the  wneela  of  the  stalled  car  the  shallow  water  ripple^i 
briskly,  four  or  five  inches  deep;  entirely  deep  enough, 
by  all  appearances,  to  keep  marooned  in  the  runabout 
the  girl  sitting  disconsolately  at  the  wheel. 

She  was  a  very  attractive-looking  girl,  Steele  noted 
casually  as  he  brought  his  own  car  to  a  halt  and  sprang 
out  to  join  her,  wading  the  water  with  his  laced  boots. 
As  he  approached  he  perceived  that  she  had  a  slender 
well-rounded  figure,  fine-spun  brown  hair  under  her 
hat  brim,  clear  brown  eyes  and  the  pink  of  peach  blos- 
soms in  her  soft  smooth  cheeks. 

But  her  look  of  relief  vanished  when  she  distinguished 
his  face  and  her  shoulders  squared  themselves. 

"Has  your  engine  stopped  ?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes." 

'Til  look  into  the  hood." 

"I  prefer  that  you  would  not.'* 

For  an  instant  surprise  marked  his  countenance. 

"You  mean  that  you  desire  to  remain  here  ?"  he  asked. 

*'I  don't  wish  to  remain  here,  but  I  choose  that  in 
preference  to  your  aid." 

The  man,  who  had  bent  forward  to  lift  one  cover  of 
the  engine,  straightened  up  at  that.  He  considered  her 

23 


24     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

intently  and  in  silence  for  a  time,  marking  her  height- 
ened color,  the  haughty  poise  of  her  head,  the  firm  set 
of  her  lips. 

"To  my  knowledge,  I  never  saw  you  before  in  my  life," 
he  remarked  at  last.  "What,  may  I  ask,  is  your  par- 
ticular reason  for  declining  my  services?" 

She  was  dumb  for  a  little,  while  she  tucked  back  a 
stray  tendril  of  hair.  The  act  was  performed  with  the 
left  hand;  and  Weir's  eyes,  which  seldom  missed  any- 
thing, observed  a  diamond  flash  on  the  third  finger. 

"Well,  I'd  choose  not  to  explain,"  said  she,  after- 
wards, "but  if  you  insist " 

"I  don't  insist,  I  merely  request  .  .  .  your  highness." 

A  flash  of  anger  shot  from  her  eyes  at  this  irony. 

"Don't  think  I'm  afraid  to  tell  you!"  she  cried.  "It's 
because  you're  the  manager  of  the  construction  camp; 
and  if  you've  never  seen  me  before,  I've  at  least  had  you 
pointed  out  to  me.  I  wish  no  assistance  from  the  man 
who  turns  off  his  poor  workmen  without  excuse  or  warn- 
ing, and  brings  want  and  trouble  upon  the  community. 
It  was  like  striking  them  in  the  face.  And  then  you 
break  your  promise  not  to  bring  in  other  workmen !" 

As  she  had  said,  she  did  not  lack  courage.  Her  words 
gushed  forth  in  a  torrent,  as  if  an  expression  of  pent 
up  and  outraged  justice,  disclosing  a  fervent  sympathy 
and  a  fine  zeal — and,  likewise,  a  fine  ignorance  of  the 
facts. 

"Well,  why  don't  you  say  something?"  she  added, 
when  he  gave  no  indication  of  replying. 

Steele  could  have  smiled  at  this  feminine  view  of  the 
matter  that  violent  assertions  required  affirmations  or 
denials. 

"What  am  I  supposed  to  say?"  he  asked. 

Apparently  that  exhausted  her  patience. 


COMEDY— AND  SOMETHING  ELSE  25 

"You'll  please  molest  me  no  longer,"  she  stated,  icily. 

"Very  well." 

He  raised  the  hood  and  inspected  the  engine.  During 
his  attempts  to  start  it,  she  sat  nonchalantly  humming 
an  air  and  gazing  at  the  mountains  as  if  her  mind  were  a 
thousand  miles  away — which  it  was  not. 

"Something  wrong ;  it  will  have  to  be  hauled  in,"  said 
he  finally. 

No  reply.  Steele  returned  to  his  own  car  and  de- 
scending into  the  creek  bed  worked  his  way  around  her. 
When  he  was  on  the  far  bank,  he  rejoined  her  again, 
carrying  a  coil  of  rope.  One  end  of  this  he  fastened 
securely  to  the  rear  axle  of  her  runabout. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do,  sir?"  she  demanded, 
whirling  about  on  her  seat  and  glaring  angrily. 

"Drag  you  out." 

"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind!" 

"Oh,  yes,"  was  his  calm  response. 

"Against  my  wishes,  sir?" 

"Certainly." 

"This  is  abominable!" 

"Perhaps." 

"I'll  put  on  the  brakes."  And  put  them  on  she  did, 
with  a  savage  jerk. 

But  nevertheless  Weir's  powerful  machine  drew  her 
car  slowly  up  out  of  the  creek  upon  the  road,  where  he 
forced  it  about  until  it  pointed  towards  San  Mateo. 
Then  he  retied  the  rope  on  the  front  axle. 

"Now  for  town,"  said  he. 

"Why  did  you  haul  me  out  of  there,  I  demand  to 
know?" 

"Why?  Because  you  were  a  public  obstruction 
blocking  traffic.  If  you  had  remained  there  long  enough 
you  would  have  become  a  public  nuisance;  and  it's  the 


duty  of  every  citizen  to  abate  nuisances.  No  one  would 
call  you  a  nuisance,  of  course, — not  to  your  face,  at 
any  rate.  But  travelers  might  have  felt  some  annoy- 
ance if  compelled  to  drive  around  you ;  they  might  even 
have  had  you  arrested  when  they  learned  you  were 
acting  out  of  willful  stubbornness." 

In  a  sort  of  incredulous  wonder,  of  charmed  horror, 
the  girl  heard  herself  thus  unfeelingly  described. 

"You — you  barbarian!"  she  cried. 

"Ready?    We're  off  for  town  now." 

"I'll  run  my  car  in  the  ditch  and  wreck  it  if  you  so 
much  as  pull  it  another  inch!" 

"I  don't  like  to  be  frustrated  in  my  generous  acts ; 
they  are  so  few,  according  to  common  report.  Well, 
we'll  leave  the  car,  but  it  must  be  drawn  off  the  road." 

When  this  was  accomplished,  Weir  replaced  the  rope 
in  his  machine.  Then  he  returned  to  her. 

"What  now?  Do  you  intend  to  sit  here  in  the  hot 
sunshine,  to  say  nothing1  of  missing  your  dinner?" 

"That  doesn't  concern  you." 

Weir  shook  his  head  gravely. 

**You  must  be  saved  from  your  own  folly,"  said  he. 

Before  she  had  realized  what  was  happening,  he  had 
opened  the  door  of  the  runabout,  swung  her  out  upon 
the  ground  and  was  marching  her  towards  his  own  ma- 
chine. Stupefaction  at  this  quick,  atrocious  deed  left 
her  an  automaton;  and  before  she  had  fully  regained 
her  control  they  were  speeding  towards  San  Mateo,  she 
at  his  side. 

"This  is  outrageous !"  she  gasped. 

Steele  Weir  did  not  speak  until  they  entered  town. 

"Where  is  your  home?"  he  asked. 

"Turn  to  the  right  at  the  end  of  the  street." 

It  was  before  a  house  of  modern  structure,  banked 


COMEDY— AND  SOMETHING  ELSE  27 

with  a  bewildering  number  of  flowers  and  shaded  by 
trees,  that  he  halted  the  car.  He  alighted,  bared  his 
head,  assisted  her  to  descend,  bowed  and  then  without 
a  word  drove  away,  leaving  her  to  stare  after  him  with 
a  baffling  mixture  of  feelings  and  the  single  indignant 
statement,  "And  he  didn't  even  wait  long  enough  for  me 
to  thank  him !"  Nor  did  her  perplexity  lessen  when  her 
car  was  left  before  the  door  during  the  afternoon  by  one 
of  the  camp  mechanics  to  whom  Weir  had  telephoned 
from  San  Mateo  and  who  had  put  it  in  running  order. 

Weir  himself  proceeded  to  Bowenville,  where  matters 
regarding  shipments  and  the  unloading  of  machinery 
engaged  him  the  rest  of  the  day.  Into  his  mind,  however, 
there  floated  at  moments  the  image  of  the  girl's  face, 
banish  it  as  he  would.  He  had  learned  her  name  by 
asking  who  was  the  owner  of  the  house  where  she  had 
alighted,  information  necessary  to  direct  the  mechanic 
as  to  the  delivery  of  the  stalled  car.  Hosmer  it  was; 
and  the  residence  was  that  of  Dr.  Hosmer.  Presumably 
she  was  his  daughter.  And  what  a  vivid,  charming, 
never-surrender  enemy!  Lucky  the  chap  who  had  won 
this  high-spirited  girl. 

The  memory  of  her  eyes  and  her  personality  was  stifl 
with  him  when  he  ate  his  supper  that  evening  in  a  res- 
taurant in  Bowenville.  His  own  past  in  relation  to  the 
other  sex  had  been  starred  by  no  love  affair,  not  even 
by  episodes  of  a  sentimental  nature;  the  character  of 
his  work  had  for  long  periods  kept  him  away  from 
women's  society,  but  further  than  this  there  was  the 
shadow  upon  his  life,  the  shadow  of  mystery  that  obliged 
him  to  follow  a  solitary  course.  He  considered  himself 
unfree  to  seek  friendships  or  favors  among  women.  By 
every  demand  of  honor  he  was  bound  to  solicit  no  girl's 
trust  or  affection  until  that  mystery  was  cleared  and 


28     IX  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

his  father's  innocence  established.  It  was  for  this  reason 
that  he  seemed  even  to  himself  to  grow  more  hard,  more 
harsh,  more  silent  and  aloof,  until  at  last  he  had  come 
to  believe  that  no  fair  face  had  the  power  to  arouse 
his  interest  or  to  quicken  his  pulse. 

But  now,  this  girl  he  had  met  at  the  ford ! 

Long-stifled  emotions  struggled  in  his  breast.  Sleep- 
ing desires  awoke.  His  spirit  swelled  like  a  caged  thing 
within  the  shell  of  years  of  indurated  habit.  A  strange 
restlessness  pervaded  him.  He  had  a  fierce  passion 
somehow  to  rip  in  pieces  the  gray  drab  pattern  of  his 
commonplace  life. 

Perhaps  it  was  this  revolt  against  the  fetters  of  fate 
that  caused  him  to  welcome  the  chance  for  action  that 
presently  was  offered.  The  restaurant  was  of  an  ordi- 
nary type,  with  a  lunch  counter  at  one  side,  a  row  of 
tables  down  the  middle  and  half  a  dozen  booths  along 
the  wall  offering  some  degree  of  privacy.  In  one  of 
these  Steele  Weir  was  smoking  a  cigar  and  finishing  his 
coffee  before  making  his  ride  back  to  camp.  From  the 
booth  adjoining  he  had  for  some  time  been  hearing 
scraps  of  conversation;  now  all  at  once  the  voices  rose 
in  protest  and  in  answering  explanation,  in  perplexed 
appeal  and  earnest  assurance. 

Weir's  own  reflections  ceased.  His  head  turned  and 
remained  fixed  to  listen,  while  the  cigar  grew  cold  be- 
tween his  fingers.  For  ten  minutes  or  so  his  attitude  of 
concentrated  harkening  to  the  two  voices,  a  girl's  and 
a  man's,  remained  unchanged.  Little  by  little  he  was 
piecing  out  the  thread  of  the  confidential  dialogue — 
and  of  the  little  drama  being  enacted  in  the  booth. 

His  brows  became  lowering  as  he  gathered  its  sig- 
nificance, his  lips  drew  together  in  a  tight  thin  line.  He 
did  not  move  when  he  heard  the  man  push  back  his  chair 


COMEDY— AND  SOMETHING  ELSE  29 

to  leave  the  place,  nor  alter  his  position  until  there 
came  the  sound  of  the  door  closing  at  the  front  of  the 
restaurant.  Then  he  reached  for  his  hat,  stood  up  and 
went  lightly  around  into  the  other  booth,  where  he 
pulled  the  green  calico  curtain  across  the  opening. 

A  girl  of  about  seventeen,  of  plump  clean  prettiness, 
still  sat  at  the  table,  which  was  littered  with  dishes. 
The  cheap  finery  of  her  hat  and  dress  showed  a  pathetic 
attempt  to  increase  her  natural  comeliness.  At  this 
minute  her  face  showed  amazement  and  a  hint  of  ap- 
prehefasion. 

"What  are  you  coming  in  here  for?"  she  demanded. 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you  for  a  little  while,"  Weir  re- 
plied, seating  himself.  "You  will  please  listen.  I've 
overheard  enough  of  your  talk  to  catch  its  drift;  you 
came  here  to  be  married,  but  now  this  man  wants  to 
induce  you  to  go  to  Los  Angeles  first." 

"That  isn't  any  of  your  business,"  the  girl  flashed 
back,  going  white  and  red  by  turns. 

"I'm  making  it  mine,  however.  You  live  up  on 
Terry  Creek,  by  what  I  heard;  that's  not  far  from  my 
camp.  I'm  manager  at  the  dam  and  my  name's  Weir." 

At  this  statement  the  girl  shrank  back,  beginning  to 
bite  the  hem  of  her  handkerchief  nervously  and  gazing 
at  him  with  terrified  eyes. 

"I'm  here  to  help  you,  not  harm  you.  You've  run 
away  from  home  to-day  to  marry  this  fellow.  Did  he 
promise  to  marry  you  if  you  came  to  Bowenville?" 

"Yes." 

"And  now  he  wants  you  to  go  with  him  to  Los 
Angeles  first,  promising  to  marry  you  there?" 

The  girl  hesitated,  with  a  wavering  look. 

"Yes." 

"He  gives  you  excuses,  of  course.     But  they  don't 


30     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

satisfy  your  mind,  do  they?  They  don't  satisfy  mine, 
at  any  rate.  It's  the  old  trick.  Suppose  when  you 
reached  the  coast  he  didn't  marry  you  after  all  and  put 
you  off  with  more  promises  and  after  a  week  or  two 
abandoned  you?" 

"Oh,  he  wouldn't  do  that !"  she  cried,  with  a  gulp. 

"That's  just  what  he  is  planning.  He  didn't  meet 
you  here  until  after  dark,  I  judge.  You'll  both  go  to 
the  train  separately — I  overheard  that  part.  After- 
wards he  could  return  from  the  coast  and  deny  that 
he  had  ever  had  anything  to  do  with  you,  and  it  would 
simply  be  your  word  against  his.  And  which  would 
people  hereabouts  believe,  tell  me  that,  which  would 
they  believe,  yours  or  his,  after  you  had  gone  wrong?" 

The  girl  sat  frozen.  Then  suddenly  she  began  to  cry, 
softly  and  with  jerks  of  her  shoulders.  Weir  reached 
out  and  patted  her  arm. 

"What's  your  name?"  he  asked. 

"Mary — Mary  Johnson." 

"Mary,  I'm  interfering  in  your  affairs  only  because 
I  know  what  men  will  do.  You  must  take  no  chances. 
If  this  fellow  is  really  anxious  to  marry  you,  he'll  do 
it  here  in  Bowenville." 

After  a  few  sobs  she  wiped  her  eyes. 

"He  said  he  didn't  dare  get  the  license  in  San  Mateo, 
or  his  folks  would  have  stopped  our  marriage." 

"Then  you  should  stay  here  to-night,  go  to  the  next 
county  seat  and  be  married  to-morrow.  His  parents  are 
bound  to  learn  about  it  once  you're  married.  A  few  days 
more  or  less  make  no  difference.  And  though  I  should 
return  to  my  work,  I'll  just  stay  over  a  day  and  take 
you  in  my  car  to-morrow  to  see  that  you're  married 
straight  and  proper.  Why  go  clear  to  Los  Angeles?" 


COMEDY— AND  SOMETHING  ELSE  81 

"He  said  it  would  be  our  honeymoon — and — and  I 
had  never  been  away  from  here." 

"What's  his  name?" 

She  hesitated  in  uncertainty  whether  or  not  she 
should  answer. 

"Ed  Sorenson,"  came  at  last  from  her  lips. 

Steele  Weir  slowly  thrust  his  head  forward,  fixing 
her  with  burning  eyes. 

"Son  of  the  big  cattleman?"  he  demanded. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  you  love  him?" 

"Yes,  oh,  yes!" 

Weir  sat  back  in  his  seat,  lighted  a  cigarette  and 
stared  past  her  head  at  the  opposite  partition.  The 
evil  strain  of  the  father  had  been  continued  in  the  son 
and  was  working  here  to  seduce  this  simple,  ignorant 
girl,  incited  by  her  physical  freshness  and  the  expecta- 
tion that  she  should  be  easy  prey. 

"Well,  I  doubt  if  he  loves  you,"  he  said,  presently. 

"He  does,  he  does !" 

"If  he  really  does  above  everything  else  in  the  world, 
he'll  be  willing  to  marry  you  openly,  no  matter  what 
his  father  may  say  or  do.  That's  the  test,  Mary.  If 
he's  in  earnest,  he'll  agree  at  once  to  go  with  us  to  the 
next  county  seat  to-morrow  and  be  married  there  by  a 
minister.  Isn't  that  true?  Answer  me  that  squarely; 
isn't  it  true?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Then  by  that  we'll  decide.  If  he  agrees,  well  and 
good;  if  he  refuses,  that  will  show  him  up — show  he 
never  had  any  intention  of  marrying  you.  I'm  a 
stranger  to  you,  but  I'm  your  friend.  And  you're  not 
going  to  Los  Angeles  unmarried!" 


32     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

The  last  words  were  uttered  in  a  level  menacing1  tone 
that  caused  Mary  Johnson  to  shiver.  To  her,  reared 
in  the  humble  adobe  house  on  her  father's  little  ranch 
on  Terry  Creek,  a  man  who  could  manage  the  great 
irrigation  project  seemed  a  figure  out  of  her  ken,  a  vast 
form  working  against  the  sky.  His  statements  were  not 
to  be  disputed,  whatever  she  might  think. 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  said,  just  above  a  whisper. 

"All  right.  Now  we'll  wait  for  him.  He  was  coming 
back  for  you,  wasn't  he?" 

"Yes.    I  was  to  stay  at  the  hotel  till  train  time." 

"Is  this  your  grip?" 

Weir  jerked  a  thumb  towards  a  worn  canvas  "tele- 
scope" fastened  with  a  single  shawl  strap,  resting  in 
the  corner  of  the  booth. 

"It's  mine.     Yes,  sir." 

"How  old  is  Ed  Sorenson,"  he  asked,  after  a  pause. 

"About  thirty,  maybe." 

"How  old  are  you?" 

"Seventeen  next  month.'* 

"But  sixteen  yet  this  month." 

"Yes,  sir." 

He  said  nothing  more.  As  the  minutes  passed,  her 
timorous  gaze  continued  steadfastly  on  the  stern  coun- 
tenance before  her.  She  dully  expected  something  ter- 
rible to  happen  when  Ed  Sorenson  appeared,  for  she 
knew  Ed  would  be  angry ;  but  she  had  been  powerless  to 
prevent  the  intrusion  of  this  terrible  stranger. 

Fear,  in  truth,  a  fear  that  left  her  heart  cold,  was 
her  feeling  as  she  contemplated  Weir.  Yet  under  that, 
was  there  not  something  else?  A  sense  of  safety,  of 
comforting  assurance  of  protection  ? 

"You — you  won't  hurt  Ed  if  he  won't  go  with  us?" 


COMEDY— AND  SOMETHING  ELSE   33 

she  asked,  in  a  low  voice.  "If  he  gets  mad  and  won't 
marry  me  here,  I  mean?" 

The  man's  eyes  came  round  to  hers. 

"I'll  just  break  him  in  two,  nothing  more,  Mary,"  was 
the  calm  answer. 


CHAPTER  HI 

THE  ENEMY'S  SPAWN 


THE  curtain  to  the  booth  was  flung  back. 
"I've  the  train  tickets ;  come  along  to  the  hotel- 


exclaimed  the  man  who  quickly  entered.  But  the  words 
died  in  his  mouth  at  sight  of  Weir  sitting  in  the  place 
he  had  vacated. 

He  was  over  average  height,  of  strong  fleshy  build, 
with  a  small  blonde  mustache  on  his  upper  lip.  Under 
his  eyes  little  pouches  had  already  begun  to  form;  his 
mouth  was  full  and  sensual;  but  he  still  retained  an  air 
of  liveliness,  of  carelessness  and  agility,  that  might  at 
first  sight  seem  the  spontaneity  of  youth.  He  wore  a 
brown  suit,  a  gray  flannel  shirt  and  Stetson  hat — the 
common  apparel  of  the  country. 

"Who  the  devil  are  you?  And  what  are  you  butting 
in  here  for?"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  vicious  spark  show- 
ing in  his  pale  blue  eyes.  At  the  same  time  he  clapped 
a  hand  on  Weir's  shoulder,  closing  it  in  a  hard  grasp. 

Instantly  Weir  struck  the  hand  off  with  his  fist. 

"Keep  your  dirty  flippers  to  yourself,"  he  said,  rising. 

The  blood  faded  from  the  other's  countenance,  leav- 
ing it  white  with  rage. 

"Get  out  of  this  booth,  or  111  throw  you  out." 

It  was  Weir's  turn  to  act.  Like  a  flash  he  caught 
Soren son's  elbow,  jerked  him  forward,  spun  him  about 
and  dropped  him  upon  the  chair. 

"Sit  there,  you  cradle-robber,  until  I'm  through 

34 


THE  ENEMY'S  SPAWN  35 

with  you,"  he  commanded.  "And  if  you  don't  want 
everybody  in  this  restaurant  to  know  about  your  busi- 
ness with  this  girl,  you'll  lower  your  voice  when  you 
talk." 

Sorenson  shot  an  uneasy  glance  towards  the  curtain 
and  his  wrath  became  not  less  furious  but  better  con- 
trolled. Clearly  public  attention  was  the  last  thing 
he  desired  in  this  affair.  He  leaned  back,  staring  at 
Steele  Weir  insolently,  and  produced  a  cigarette,  at 
which  he  began  to  puff. 

"Mary,  get  ready.  Well  be  going  in  a  minute,"  said 
he. 

"No,  you'll  not,  Sorenson.  I've  taken  a  hand  in  your 
game.  This  girl  says  you're  going  to  marry  her,  is  that 
right?"  The  other  rolled  his  eyes  upward  and  began 
to  whistle  a  jig  tune  softly.  "Well,  this  is  the  plan  she 
and  I've  made.  Shell  remain  at  the  hotel  to-night — as 
will  you  and  I — and  to-morrow  we'll  drive  to  another 
county  seat  in  my  car  and  you'll  secure  a  licence  there. 
Then  you'll  go  to  a  minister's,  where  I'll  act  as  a  wit- 
ness, and  the  ceremony  will  be  performed.  Afterwards 
the  pair  of  you  can  proceed  to  Los  Angeles,  or  else- 
where as  you  please,  on  your  wedding  journey." 

"You're  quite  a  little  planner,  aren't  you?"  the  other 
jeered. 

"That's  the  arrangement  if  you  agree." 

"I  don't  agree." 

Mary  Johnson,  in  whose  eyes  a  light  of  hope  had 
dawned  during  Weir's  low-toned  statement,  began  ner- 
vously to  bite  her  lip. 

"Won't  you  do  it,  Ed?"  she  asked,  timidly. 

"Well  do  as  I  planned,  or  nothing,"  he  stated.  Then 
with  sudden  spite  he  continued,  "You're  responsible  for 
this  mixup.  What  did  you  let  this  fellow  in  here  for 


36     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

while  I  was  gone?  Didn't  you  have  sense  enough  to 
keep  your  mouth  shut?" 

Steele  halted  him  by  a  gesture. 

"Don't  begin  abusing  her;  you're  not  married  to  her 
yet.  I  overheard  your  talk  and  guessed  the  low-lived, 
scoundrelly  trick  you  proposed  to  play  on  her." 

"You  damned  eavesdropper " 

"Sure,  eavesdropper  is  right,"  Weir  interrupted, 
coolly.  "So  I  just  stepped  in  here  from  my  booth  next 
door  to  discuss  the  situation  with  her;  you  can't  mis- 
lead an  innocent  girl  like  her  with  the  intention  of  shak- 
ing her  when  you  get  her  into  a  city,  not  if  I  know  about 
it  and  am  around.  If  you  sincerely  intend  to  marry 
her,  and  will  do  so  to-morrow  in  my  presence,  then  I'll 
withdraw.  Afterwards  I  mean,  of  course." 

Sorenson  arose. 

"Come,  Mary.    Stand  aside,  you !" 

"She  doesn't  go  with  you,"  the  engineer  stated. 

For  a  moment  the  men's  eyes  locked,  those  of  one 
full  of  blue  fire  and  hatred,  those  of  the  other  quiet 
as  pieces  of  flint. 

"And  she  shall  keep  with  me  while  I  telephone  to  your 
father  that  you  brought  her  here  under  promise  of 
marriage,  a  girl  of  sixteen,  without  her  own  parents* 
consent,  and  now  refuse  to  marry  her,"  Steele  added. 

A  sneer  twisted  the  other  man's  mouth. 

"My  father  happens  to  be  in  the  east,  where  he's  been 
for  a  month,"  he  mocked.  "If  he  were  here,  he  wouldn't 
believe  you;  he'd  know  you  were  a  liar.  He  knows  I'm 

engaged  to  marry "  Bite  off  the  words  as  he  tried, 

they  had  escaped. 

"Ah,  that's  the  way  of  it!"  Weir  remarked  with  a 
silky  smoothness.  "You  expect  to  marry  some  other 


37 

girl — and  have  no  intention  whatever  of  marrying  Mary 
here." 

"To  hell  with  you  and  your  opinions !" 

"First,  you  coax  her  to  Bowenville  by  a  promise,  then 
you  persuade  her  by  more  promises  to  go  to  Los  Ange- 
les," the  engineer  proceeded  steadily,  "and  there  you 
would  betray  and  abandon  her  to  a  life  on  the  streets, 
like  the  yellow  cur  you  are." 

Sorenson  snapped  his  fingers  and  moved  round  to  the 
girl's  side. 

"Pay  no  attention  to  him,"  he  addressed  her.  "He's 
only  a  crazy  fool." 

But  she  drew  back  against  the  wall,  staring  at  him 
with  a  strained,  searching  regard. 

"Will  you  marry  me  to-morrow  as  he  asks?"  she 
questioned  anxiously. 

"No.  I  explained  the  reason  why  once.  Come  on; 
let's  get  away  from  him.  Then  I'll  make  everything 
clear  and  satisfactory  to  you." 

For  a  moment  she  stood  wavering,  picking  at  her 
handkerchief,  her  face  pale  and  unhappy,  questioning 
his  countenance.  Finally  she  turned  to  look  at  Steele 
Weir,  standing  silently  by. 

"You  never  said  you  were  engaged  to  another  girl; 
you  told  me  I  was  the  only  one  you  loved,"  she  muttered 
in  a  choked  voice.  "But  I  see  now  you  won't  marry  me. 
You  wish  me  to  go  with  you — but  not  to  marry.  I'm 
going  away — away  anywhere.  By  myself!  Where  I'll 
never  see  any  one !"  Burying  her  face  in  her  hands,  she 
shook  with  sobs. 

"This  is  what  comes  from  your  putting  an  oar  in," 
said  Sorenson,  lifting  his  fist  in  a  burst  of  fury  to  strike 
Weir. 

The  latter  at  once  smote  him  across  the  mouth  with 


38     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

open  palm  at  the  vile  epithet  that  followed.  Sorenson 
staggered,  then  lunged  forward,  tugging  at  something 
in  his  hip-pocket,  while  the  table  and  dishes  went  over 
in  a  crash. 

Before  he  could  draw  the  weapon  Steele's  fingers  shot 
forth  and  seized  his  wrist;  his  other  hand  closed  about 
Sorenson's  throat  in  an  iron  grasp.  Slowly  under  that 
powerful  grip  the  younger  man's  struggles  ceased,  his 
eyes  dilated,  his  knees  yielded  and  gave  way.  The  re- 
volver was  wrenched  from  his  numbed  hold.  His  eye- 
balls seemed  afire;  his  breast  heaved  in  violent  spasms 
for  the  denied  breath;  and  his  heart  appeared  about  to 
burst. 

<{You  miserable  skunk!"  Weir  said,  barely  moving 
his  mouth,  "I  ought  to  choke  the  life  out  of  you." 
Then  he  released  his  hold.  "I'll  keep  this  gun — and 
use  it  if  you  ever  try  to  pull  another  on  me!  Now, 
make  tracks.  Remember,  too,  to  pay  your  bill  as  you 
go  out." 

When  Sorenson  had  straightened  his  coat,  giving 
Weir  a  malignant  look  during  the  process,  he  departed. 
His  air  of  disdainful  insolence  had  quite  evaporated,  but 
that  he  considered  the  action  between  them  only  begun 
was  plain,  though  he  spoke  not  a  word.  Weir,  however, 
heard  him  give  a  quieting  explanation  to  the  waiter  hov- 
ering outside,  who  had  been  drawn  by  the  crash  of 
dishes. 

"Thought  a  fight  was  going  on,"  the  aproned  dis- 
penser of  food  said  to  Steele  when  he  and  the  girl 
emerged. 

"Just  an  accident.  Nothing  broken,  I  imagine,"  was 
the  response. 

"You  couldn't  break  those  dishes  with  a  hammer; 
they're  made  for  rough  work." 


THE  ENEMY'S  SPAWN  39 

"If  there's  any  damage,  this  may  cover  it."  And 
Steele  tossed  the  fellow  a  dollar. 

Outside  the  restaurant  he  slipped  his  hand  inside 
Mary  Johnson's  arm  and  led  her  along  the  street.  With 
him  he  had  brought  the  old  strapped  grip. 

"Where  you  taking  me?"  she  asked,  in  a  worried 
quaver. 

"Home,  Mary." 

"Oh,  I'm  afraid  to  go  home." 

"Are  you  afraid  of  your  own  father  and  mother? 
They're  the  ones  to  trust  first  of  all." 

"But  when  father — mother  is  dead — sees  the  tele- 
scope, he'll  want  to  know  where  I've  been.  He  doesn't 
know  I  have  it.  I  told  him  I  might  stay  with  a  girl  at 
San  Mateo  over  night,  and  then  sneaked  it  out." 

"The  best  thing  is  to  tell  him  all  about  this  occur- 
rence." 

"Oh,  I  can't." 

"Then  I  shall.     Leave  that  part  to  me." 

And  though  her  heart  was  filled  with  fresh  alarms 
and  fears  at  the  prospect,  there  seemed  nothing  else  to 
do.  She  longed  to  flee,  to  hide  in  some  dark  hole,  to 
cover  her  shame  from  her  father  and  the  world,  but  in 
the  hands  of  this  determined  man  she  felt  herself  power- 
less. What  he  willed,  she  dumbly  did. 

Terry  Creek  flowed  out  of  the  mountains  four  miles 
north  of  San  Mateo,  an  insignificant  stream  entering  the 
Bumtwood  halfway  down  to  Bowenville.  The  Johnson 
ranch  house  was  a  mile  up  the  canyon,  where  the  rocky 
walls  expanded  into  a  grassy  park  of  no  great  area. 
They  reached  the  girl's  home  about  half-past  nine  that 
night. 

For  two  hours  Weir  remained  talking  with  the  father, 
describing  the  affair  at  Bowenville,  fending  off  his  first 


40     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

bitter  anger  at  the  girl  and  gradually  persuading  him 
to  see  that  Mary  had  been  deceived,  lured  away  on  hol- 
low promises  and  was  guiltless  of  all  except  failing  to 
take  him  into  her  confidence.  At  last  peace  was  made. 
Mary  wept  for  a  time,  and  was  patted  on  the  head  by 
her  rough,  bearded  father,  who  exclaimed,  "There, 
there,  don't  cry.  You're  safe  back  again;  we'll  just 
forget  it." 

Outside  of  the  house,  however,  where  he  had  accom- 
panied Weir  to  his  car,  he  said  with  an  oath : 

"But  I'll  not  forget  Ed  Sorenson,  if  I  go  to  hell  for 
it.  My  little  girl!" 

"She's  half  a  child  yet,  that's  the  worse  of  his  of- 
fense," Steele  replied,  savagely. 

"Mary  said  you  choked  him." 

"Some.     Not  enough." 

"I'll  not  forget  him — or  you,  Mr.  Weir." 

Steele  mounted  into  his  machine.  He  thoughtfully 
studied  the  rancher's  bearded,  weather-tanned  face,  il- 
luminated by  the  moonlight. 

"At  present  I'd  say  nothing  about  this  matter  to 
any  one.  Later  on  you  may  be  able  to  use  it  in  squar- 
ing accounts,"  the  engineer  advised. 

"I  hope  so,"  was  the  answer,  with  a  bitter  note.  "But 
talking  would  only  hurt  Mary,  not  Ed  Sorenson.  What- 
ever the  Sorensons  do  is  all  right,  you  know,  because 
they're  rich.  The  daughter  of  a  poor  man  like  me 
would  get  all  the  black  end  of  the  gossip;  and  I  can't 
lift  a  finger,  that's  what  grinds  me,  unless  I  go  out  and 
shoot  him,  then  hang  for  it.  For  the  bank's  got  a 
mortgage  on  my  little  bunch  of  stock,  and  on  my  ranch 
here,  and  Sorenson,  of  course,  is  the  bank.  Gordon  and 
Vorse  and  a  few  others  are  in  it  too,  but  he's  the  bull 
of  the  herd.  If  I  opened  my  mouth  about  his  son,  I'd 


THE  ENEMY'S  SPAWN  41 

be  kicked  off  of  Terry  Creek,  lock,  stock  and  barrel. 
That's  the  way  Sorenson  keeps  all  of  us  poor  devils, 
white  and  Mexican,  eating  out  of  his  hand.  I've  just 
been  poor  since  I  came  here  a  boy;  the  gang  in  San 
Mateo  won't  let  anybody  but  themselves  have  a  chance. 
And  I  reckon  old  man  Sorenson  wouldn't  care  much  if 
his  boy  had  ruined  my  girl.  Cuss  him  a  little,  maybe; 
that  would  be  all.  But  I  won't  forget  the  whelp.  Some 
day  my  chance  will  come  to  play  even." 

"Sure;  if  one  just  keeps  quiet  and  waits,"  Steele 
agreed.  "Well,  I  must  hit  the  trail.  If  you  want  work 
any  time,  come  over  to  the  dam;  we  can  always  use  a 
man  with  a  team." 

Johnson  nodded. 

"After  haying  is  done,  maybe.  And  remember,  I'm 
much  obliged  to  you  for  looking  after  my  little  girl.  I 
won't  forget  that,  either." 

He  reached  up  diffidently  and  shook  hands  with  the 
engineer.  Weir's  grip  was  sympathetic  and  sincere. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A    SECK.ET    CONFERENCE 

ON  a  certain  afternoon  Felipe  Martinez,  the  lean  and 
restless  attorney  who  had  acted  as  the  Mexican  work- 
men's mouthpiece,  observed  through  the  broad  plate- 
glass  window  of  the  San  Mateo  Cattle  Company's  office 
an  incident  that  greatly  interested  him.  For  the  mo- 
ment he  forgot  the  resentment  kindled  by  Sorenson's 
abrupt  refusal  and  brutal  words  when  he  asked  for  the 
nomination  for  county  attorney.  The  election  was  in 
the  autumn;  the  nomination  was  equivalent  to  election; 
and  Felipe  considered  that  he  had  too  long  been  kept 
apart  from  that  particular  spoil. 

Martinez  had  once  had  a  slight  difference  with  the 
banker,  and  now  outrageously  Sorenson  had  recalled  it. 
He  had  stated  that  Martinez  should  hold  no  political 
office ;  he  gave  offices  only  to  men  who  did  exactly  as  he 
advised;  his  exact  words  were  that  the  Mexican  was 
"tricky  and  no  good."  And  picking  up  his  hat  Soren- 
son who  had  that  day  returned  home  from  the  east  went 
out  of  the  bank,  leaving  Martinez  to  stare  out  of  the 
window  and  meditatively  twist  a  point  of  his  silky  black 
mustache. 

It  was  before  the  window  that  there  occurred  the  meet- 
ing between  Sorenson  and  the  manager  of  the  dam. 
Martinez  perceived  the  two  men  glance  at  each  other 
and  pass,  but  after  a  step  or  two  both  men  halted.  As 
if  worked  by  a  single  wire,  they  slowly  swung  about  for 

42 


A  SECRET  CONFERENCE          43 

a  second  look.  The  Mexican's  nimble  brain  calculated 
that  they  could  not  have  previously  met  and  in  conse- 
quence their  behavior  bespoke  something  out  of  the 
ordinary. 

The  pair  stood  exactly  where  they  had  turned,  three 
or  four  paces  apart,  he  noted.  The  Mexican's  mind 
palpitated  with  a  slight  thrill  of  excitement.  The 
manner  of  each  of  the  men  was  that  of  a  fighting  ani- 
mal looking  over  another  animal  of  the  same  sort: 
neither  uttering  a  word,  nor  stirring  a  finger,  nor  yield- 
ing a  particle  in  his  fixed  unwinking  gaze.  Martinez 
could  almost  feel  the  exchanged  challenge,  the  cold  an- 
tagonism, the  hostile  curiosity,  the  matching  of  wills, 
the  instant  hate,  between  the  men. 

Though  they  had  not  met  before,  to  be  sure,  neverthe- 
less they  were  enemies.  Was  it  because  of  the  discharge 
of  the  workmen?  Then  Martinez'  mind  flashed  back  to 
the  scene  in  Vorse's  saloon  when  Gordon  had  showed  such 
sudden  emotion  at  the  engineer's  name  and  his  enigmat- 
ical reference  to  some  event  in  the  past.  That  was  it! 
Something  which  had  occurred  thirty  years  ago,  prob- 
ably something  crooked.  Men  committed  deeds  in  those 
early  days  that  they  would  now  like  to  forget.  He, 
Martinez,  would  look  into  the  matter. 

Sorenson  passed  out  of  sight,  and  Weir  likewise  pro- 
ceeded on  his  way.  Thereupon  the  lawyer  sauntered 
over  to  the  court  house,  where  presently  he  became  en- 
grossed in  a  pile  of  tomes  in  the  register's  office.  As  ex- 
amining records  is  a  part  of  a  lawyer's  regular  work, 
it  never  excites  curiosity  or  arouses  suspicion. 

That  same  evening  Martinez  perceived  Vorse  enter 
Sorenson's  office.  Vorse,  he  recalled,  had  been  included 
in  the  engineer's  threatening  remarks  to  Gordon.  Short- 
ly thereafter  Gordon  himself  ambled  along  the  street 


44     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

and  passed  through  the  door.  Last  of  all,  Burkhardt,  a 
short,  fleshy,  bearded  man,  went  into  the  building.  The 
vultures  of  San  Mateo,  as  he  secretly  called  them,  had 
flocked  together  for  conference.  Presently  Martinez 
strolled  by  the  office,  outwardly  displaying  no  interest 
in  the  structure  but  furtively  seeking  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  the  interior  through  a  crack  of  the  drawn  shade. 
But  in  this  he  was  unsuccessful. 

Of  one  thing  he  was  certain,  however.  His  prolonged 
examination  of  the  county  records  had  revealed  an  old 
bill  of  sale  of  a  ranch  and  several  herds  of  cattle  from 
one  Joseph  Weir  to  Sorenson,  Vorse,  Gordon  and 
Burkhardt.  He  had  placed  his  finger  on  the  link  con- 
necting the  engineer  with  these  men,  the  entire  four,  as 
this  old  bill  of  sale  thus  recorded  showed  the  intimate 
though  unexpressed  partnership  of  the  men,  which  was 
common  knowledge  over  the  country ;  and  intuition  told 
him  also  that  this  private  assembly  of  the  quartette 
quickly  on  Sorenson's  return  home  had  its  inspiration  in 
the  new  manager  of  the  dam. 

Martinez  determined  to  continue  his  investigations. 
Events  might  yet  prove  that  it  would  have  been  much 
better  for  the  cattleman  to  have  given  him  the  political 
nomination.  Truly,  it  was  possible.  In  any  case,  it 
would  do  no  harm  to  have  "something  on"  Sorenson  and 
the  others,  these  rulers  of  San  Mateo.  And  there  was 
the  opposite  side  of  the  affair — Weir's  side ;  so  it  looked 
as  if  there  might  be  profit  either  way. 

The  four  men  sitting  in  the  railed-off  space  in  the 
San  Mateo  Cattle  Company's  office  constituted  the 
cattle  company.  Moreover,  they  comprised  the  finan- 
cial, political  and  general  power  of  this  remote  section 
of  New  Mexico.  In  face,  manner,  garb,  they  were  dis- 


A  SECRET  CONFERENCE          45 

similar.  Vorse,  clothed  in  gray,  was  hawk-nosed  and  im- 
passive; and  though  now,  like  his  companions,  wealthy 
beyond  simple  needs  he  nevertheless  continued  the  op- 
eration of  his  saloon  that  had  been  a  landmark  in  San 
Mateo  for  forty  years.  Burkhardt  was  rough-featured, 
rough-tongued,  choleric,  and  coatless:  typically  the 
burly,  uncurried,  uncouth  stock  man,  whose  commonest 
words  were  oaths  or  curses  and  whose  way  with  obstinate 
cattle  or  men  was  the  way  of  the  club  or  the  fist.  Gor- 
don was  the  wily,  cautious,  unscrupulous  politician;  he 
had  represented  San  Mateo  in  the  legislature  for  years, 
both  during  the  Territorial  period  and  since  New  Mex- 
ico had  become  a  state,  and  was  not  unknown  in  other 
parts  of  the  southwest;  but  he  was  "Judge"  only  by 
courtesy,  the  title  most  frequently  given  him,  never  hav- 
ing been  admitted  to  the  bar  or  having  practiced,  and 
engaged  himself  ostensibly  in  the  insurance  and  real 
estate  business.  Like  the  others,  his  share  of  the  large 
cattle,  sheep  and  land  holdings  of  the  group  made  him 
independent.  Sorenson,  the  last  of  the  four  and  in 
reality  the  leader  because  of  a  greater  breadth  of  vision 
and  a  natural  capacity  for  business,  was  dressed  in  a 
tailored  suit  of  greenish  plaid — a  man  with  bushy  eye- 
brows, a  long  fleshy  nose,  predatory  eyes,  a  heavy  cat-fish 
mouth  and  a  great,  barrel-like  body  that  reared  two  or 
three  inches  over  six  feet  when  he  stood  on  his  feet.  But 
one  thing  they  had  in  common,  in  addition  to  the  gray 
hair  of  age,  and  that  was  a  joint  liability  for  the  past. 
For  years  they  had  believed  that  liability  extinguished 
through  the  operation  of  time.  They  had  considered 
as  closed  and  sealed  the  account  of  early  secret,  lawless 
acts  by  which  they  had  acquired  wealth  and  a  grip  on 
the  community.  They  were  now  law-observing  members 
of  society ;  they  controlled  even  if  they  sometimes  failed 


46    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

to  possess  the  goodwill  of  the  county — and  they  were 
not  men  to  measure  position  by  friendships ;  their  coun- 
cils determined  how  much  or  how  little  other  men  should 
own  and  in  local  politics  their  fingers  moved  the  puppets 
that  served  their  will. 

With  the  entrance  here  of  the  powerful  group  of  finan- 
ciers who  were  constructing  the  irrigation  project  they 
recognized  the  threat  to  their  old-time  supremacy. 
Cattle  and  sheep  interests  would  succumb  to  farming; 
a  swarm  of  new,  independent  settlers  would  arrive  like 
locusts;  and  their  leadership  would  eventually  be  chal- 
lenged if  not  ended.  New  towns  would  spring  up.  New 
money  would  flow  in  to  dispute  their  financial  mastery. 
New  leaders  would  arise  to  assail  their  political  domin- 
ion. And  against  the  prospect  of  all  this  they  had  ini- 
tiated a  secret  warfare,  endeavoring  by  stealth  to  ruin 
the  irrigation  company  at  the  beginning  and  nip  the 
danger  in  the  bud. 

Now  it  had  been  revealed  all  at  once  that  they  had 
not  only  a  general  and  impersonal  enemy  in  the  form 
of  the  company,  but  a  specific  one  in  the  form  of  a  man, 
its  manager.  Out  of  nowhere  he  had  emerged,  out  of 
thirty  years'  silence,  a  sinister  figure  who  tapped  with 
significant  finger  the  book  of  their  secret  past  while  his 
eyes  steadfastly  demanded  a  reckoning.  Did  he  know 
all,  or  nothing?  Knowing,  did  he  deliberately  leave  them 
in  doubt  in  order  to  shatter  their  confidence? 

At  least  one  of  the  four  had  been  badly  shaken  on 
learning  Weir's  identity,  and  all  now  were  uneasy.  It 
was  as  if  Fate  after  a  long  silence  was  about  to  open 
the  sealed  record. 

"Perhaps  you  were  just  imagining  things,  Judge," 
Sorenson  was  saying. 


A  SECRET  CONFERENCE          47 

Senator  Gordon  moistened  his  lips  and  tugged  ner- 
rously  at  his  gray  mustache. 

"No,  no,"  he  exclaimed.  "Just  ask  Vorse.  The  man 
said  his  name  was  Weir  and  that  he  was  the  son  of  Joe 
Weir.  Then — then " 

"Well?"  Sorenson  demanded,  frowning  at  the  other's 
visible  trepidation. 

"Weir  added,  'And  I  know  what  happened  thirty 
years  ago  in  this  selfsame  room.'  Those  were  his  very 
words.  Isn't  that  true,  Vorse?" 

"Yes." 

"They  could  mean  only  one  thing,"  said  Gordon. 

"When  the  Judge  went  out  he  said  to  me,"  Vorse 
stated,  "  'That  was  for  you  too.'  I  had  my  hand  on  my 
gun  under  the  counter  as  he  said  it,  ready  if  he  made 
a  move.  He  knew  what  I  had  there,  but  it  didn't  faze 
him.  He's  a  better  man  than  Joe  Weir  ever  was,  I  want 
to  remark,  and  different;  he  has  nerve  and  a  bad  eye. 
He  knows  something,  lay  your  bets  on  that." 

"How  much?  How  much?  If  we  only  knew  how 
much !"  Judge  Gordon  vouchsafed,  testily. 

"How  would  he  know  anything?  Joe  Weir  didn't 
know,  so  how  can  this  fellow  know?  Don't  get  scared 
at  a  shadow."  It  was.  the  bearded,  rough-tongued  Burk- 
hardt  who  spoke,  concluding  his  words  with  a  blasphe- 
mous oath. 

"There's  the  Mexican  who  saw  what  happened — and 
that  boy  who  looked  in  at  the  back  door,"  Gordon  as- 
serted. "We  just  caught  sight  of  him  and  couldn't  make 
out  his  face  against  the  h'ght.  Then  he  had  skipped 
when  we  ran  there.  We  never  did  learn  who  he  was." 

"Do  you  think  he  remembers?"  Sorenson  said,  scorn- 
fully. "He  may  be  dead.  He  may  be  on  the  other  side 
of  the  world.  Just  some  kid  who  happened  to  drift  by 


48     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

at  the  minute  and  look  in,  and  there's  not  one  chance 
in  a  million  he's  anywhere  around  these  parts  yet.  He 
would  have  blabbed  long  ago  to  some  one  if  he  had  been ; 
don't  figure  him  in,  he's  lost." 

"Saurez  isn't,  though." 

At  this  Vorse  put  in  a  word. 

"He  saw  more  than  one  killing  in  those  days  when 
he  was  roustabout  for  me.  It  was  only  one  more  to 
him.  Probably  he  has  forgotten  it.  Anyway,"  Vorse 
ended  with  deadly  emphasis,  "he  knows  what  would 
happen  to  him  even  now  if  he  remembered  it  and  talked. 
Leave  him  out  of  the  calculation  too." 

"Then  that  just  makes  the  four  of  us,"  said  Burk- 
hardt.  "Nobody  else.  So  this  fellow  Weir  doesn't  know 
a  thing." 

"But  we  can't  be  absolutely  sure,"  Judge  Gordon  re- 
plied. 

"Well,  he'd  need  proof,  wouldn't  he?" 

"Certainly,  to  bring  legal  action.  But  how  do  we 
know  he  hasn't  even  that?  Look  all  around  the  ques- 
tion as  a  lawyer  does ;  let  us  assume  the  millionth  chance, 
for  instance.  Suppose  that  he  somewhere  met  and  be- 
came acquainted  with  that  boy.  Suppose  that  he  learned 
the  latter  had  been  here  at  the  time  and  saw  the  shoot- 
ing; and  heard  his  story.  Suppose  that  Weir  knows 
this  instant  where  he  is  and  can  produce  him  as  a  wit- 
ness in  court." 

"I  reckon  in  this  county  his  testimony  wouldn't  count 
for  much,"  Burkhardt,  who  had  been  sheriff,  stated,  with 
a  harsh  laugh. 

Sorenson,  however,  was  impressed  by  the  Judge's 
reasoning,  for  he  drummed  with  fingers  on  the  desk 
and  sat  in  brooding  silence.  So  likewise  sat  Vorse,  who 
had  heard  Weir's  utterance  and  beheld  his  face. 


A  SECRET  CONFERENCE          49 

"He  knows  something,"  he  repeated,  in  a  convinced 
tone.  "Or  he's  a  damned  good  bluffer." 

"I  passed  him  here  at  the  door  this  afternoon,"  the 
banker  remarked.  "I  turned  to  look  at  him,  guessing 
•who  he  was,  and  he  had  stopped  and  was  looking  at  me. 
Cool  about  it  too.  We'll  have  to  watch  him." 

"Perhaps  if  we  just  tip  him  off  to  keep  his  mouth  shut 
tight,  that  will  be  enough,"  Burkhardt  suggested.  "If 
he  knows  the  four  of  us  are  ready " 

Vorse  sniffed. 

"You  think  he  can  be  bluffed  ?"  he  said.  "You  haven't 
seen  him  yet ;  go  take  a  look.  We'll  not  throw  any  scare 
into  him.  If  he  were  that  kind,  he  wouldn't  have  told  us 
who  he  is.  He  wanted  us  to  know  he's  after  us,  that's 
my  opinion.  He  wants  to  shake  our  nerve — and  he 
shook  the  Judge's  all  right  that  day  at  my  bar." 

"He  did,"  Gordon  admitted.  "The  thing  was  so  in- 
fernally unexpected.  Almost  like  Joe  Weir  himself 
appearing.  I  didn't  sleep  a  wink  that  night,  what  with 
my  heart  being  bad  and  what  with  seeing  him." 

"Suppose  he  has  proofs  ?"  Vorse  asked  after  a  pause, 
while  his  narrowed  eyes  moved  from  one  to  another  of 
his  companions. 

A  considerable  silence  followed.  The  question  jerked 
into  full  light  the  issue  that  had  all  the  while  been  lurk- 
ing in  the  recesses  of  their  minds — an  issue  full  of 
ghastly  possibilities.  Judge  Gordon's  fingers  trembled 
as  he  wiped  with  handkerchief  the  cold  sweat  on  his 
brow. 

"We're  all  in  it,"  Vorse  added. 

Burkhardt  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  8esk  with  a 
sudden  crash. 

"If  he  has  proofs,  then  it's  him  or  us,"  he  exclaimed, 


50    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

while  the  blood  suffused  his  face.  "Him  or  us — and  that 
means  him !  I'll  never  go  behind  bars !" 

"Sure  not.    None  of  us,"  Vorse  said. 

"It  will  mean "  Judge  Gordon  began  in  an  agi- 
tated voice,  but  did  not  finish. 

Sorenson  gave  a  nod  of  his  head.  His  bear-trap 
mouth  was  compressed  in  a  determined  evil  line. 

"Exactly.  He'll  never  use  his  proofs.  We're  in  too 
far  to  halt  now  if  matters  come  to  the  point  of  his  try- 
ing to  use  them.  He  has  a  grip  on  us  in  one  way;  he 
knows  we  can't  declare  his  father,  Joe  Weir,  did  the 
killing;  that  would  make  us — what  do  you  call  it, 
Judge?" 

"Accomplices  after  the  fact.  Besides,  it  would  then 
come  out  that  we  had  taken  over  and  shared  among  us 
his  stuff,  fifty  thousand  apiece.  It's  a  deplorable  situa- 
tion we're  in,  gentlemen,  deplorable.  If  we  were  but 
able  to  start  the  story  Joe  Weir  believed  and  fled  because 
of,  it  would  cut  the  ground  out  from  under  this  man's 
feet  at  once." 

"It's  him  we'll  cut,  not  the  ground  under  him,"  Burk- 
hardt  growled,  thrusting  his  hairy  chin  forward  towards 
the  lawyer.  "And  cut  his  damned  throat." 

"I  hate  to  think  of  our  being  forced  to — to  homicide. 
Even  justifiable  homicide." 

"Homicide  nothing!  It's  just  killing  a  rattlesnake 
waiting  in  the  brush  to  strike.  That's  the  way  we  used 
to  do  in  the  old  days,  and  if  he's  going  to  bring  them 
back  that's  what  we'll  do  again." 

Sorenson  smiled  grimly. 

"We'll  wait  till  we're  sure  he  has  the  proofs, 
then » 

"Then  we'll  act  quick  and  sure,"  Vorse  shot  out. 

"And  quietly,"  the  cattleman  added.     "We'll  take  no 


51 

more  chances  this  time.  It  will  be  arranged  carefully 
beforehand ;  all  four  of  us  will  be  in  it,  of  course, — equal 
responsibility;  and  there'll  be  no  witnesses." 

Judge  Gordon's  face  wore  a  pallid,  sickish  look. 

"I  hope  to  God  there's  some  other  way  out  of  it,"  he 
muttered. 

"So  do  all  of  us,"  Burkhardt  snarled.  "But  if  there 
isn't,  it  means  guns.  For  you,  too,  along  with  the  rest 
of  us." 

Sorenson  leaned  forward  and  gazed  from  under  his 
heavy  brows,  compelling  Gordon  to  meet  his  fixed  look. 

"You  were  keen  enough  at  the  time  for  your  share 
of  Joe  Weir's  stuff,"  he  said.  "So  you'll  play  the  hand 
out  to  the  end  now,  the  bad  cards  as  well  as  the  good. 
You're  no  better  than  the  rest  of  us,  and  it  was  you 
who  hatched  the  scheme  for  cleaning  him  up  and  who 
put  over  the  story." 

"I  know,  I  know.  But — but  this  would  be  too  much 
like  cold-blooded  murder." 

"Murder !"  Sorenson  grated.  "Did  you  look  straight 
into  this  fellow  Weir's  eyes?  Didn't  you  see  something 
there  that  resembled  murder?  He'd  like  only  the  chance 
to  kill  us  one  by  one  with  his  own  hands:  I  saw  that 
much.  Just  as  Burkhardt  said,  it's  him  or  us.  After 
you  told  me  about  him,  I  had  only  to  take  one  look.  If 
he  has  the  goods  on  us — well,  he'll  have  to  die.  Make 
up  your  mind  to  that.  We're  back  to  the  time  of  thirty 
years  ago  and  fighting  for  our  lives.  We  were  not  only 
all  in  on  the  Weir  job,  but  the  Dent  killing — all  of  us. 
Remember  that.  If  the  facts  become  known,  we'll  be 
run  into  some  other  county  and  court  and  hanged.  And 
every  enemy  we've  made  in  these  years  past  will  put  up 
his  head  and  clamor  for  our  blood.  Let  that  sink  into 
your  mind." 


52    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

The  effect  of  this  low  fierce  utterance  was  to  hammer 
the  truth  home.  The  Judge  was  ashen.  Verse's  face 
appeared  like  an  evil  mask.  Burkliardt  glowered  sav- 
agely. 

At  that  instant  there  sounded  the  faint  report  of  a 
shot  in  the  street.  Then  as  the  group  sat  unmoving, 
rigid,  keyed  to  the  highest  pitch  of  expectancy,  there 
followed  quickly  two  more  shots.  Afterwards,  silence. 

"A  gun-play !"  issued  from  Vorse's  lips,  softly. 

They  all  sprang  up  to  hasten  to  the  door. 


CHAPTER  V 

A  SHOT  IN   THE   DABK 

STEELE  WEIR  driving  his  car  down  the  street  in  the 
dusk  had  caught  sight  of  Felipe  Martinez  standing  near 
the  cattle  company's  office.  He  stopped  close  by,  beck- 
oned. Martinez  would  do  as  well  as  another. 

"You're  a  notary,  I  suppose?"  he  questioned. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Weir.  Most  of  us  lawyers  here  are,"  he 
replied  politely,  when  he  had  advanced. 

"I've  some  papers  I  want  acknowledged  to-night. 
Must  get  them  into  the  mail  going  down  to  Bowenville 
in  the  morning." 

"Only  too  pleased  to  facilitate  your  business,  Mr. 
Weir.  My  office  is  down  a  few  doors." 

"Jump  in." 

"It's  but  a  few  steps." 

"Then  I'll  get  out  here."  And  the  engineer  stopped 
the  engine  and  descended  to  the  ground. 

Along  the  street  open  doorways  and  windows  were 
already  beginning  to  make  yellow  panels  of  lamplight  in 
the  thin  gloom.  The  air  was  still  warm,  balmy,  scented 
by  the  lingering  aroma  of  the  greasewood  smoke  of 
supper  fires  in  Mexican  ovens.  Stars  were  jeweling  the 
sky.  Few  persons  moved  in  the  twilight. 

One  of  these  was  a  man  who,  standing  at  the  door  of 
a  native  saloon  across  the  street  and  a  little  farther  up, 
had  come  diagonally  over  towards  the  bank  on  seeing  the 
engineer  halt  his  car.  He  walked  with  a  slouching  haste 

63 


54    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

seldom  exhibited  by  a  Mexican  and  gained  the  spot  as 
Weir  stepped  out.  There  he  slackened  his  pace  while  he 
scanned  the  American  with  an  intense,  slow  gaze  that 
the  engineer,  chancing  to  raise  his  eyes,  squarely  met. 

The  Mexicans  always  looked  at  him  and  fell  silent 
when  he  passed  since  he  had  shown  who  was  master  at 
the  dam.  In  the  eyes  of  some  was  merely  stupid  curi- 
osity, in  some  a  shrinking,  and  in  many  a  half -veiled  hos- 
tility. That  did  not  trouble  Weir.  In  Mexico  he  had 
dealt  with  recalcitrant  workmen  of  more  lawless  nature 
than  these.  He  usually  ignored  them  altogether  now 
as  they  no  longer  were  in  his  employ.  But  this  man 
seized  his  attention. 

It  was  not  yet  too  dark  to  mark  his  face  as  he  lounged 
past,  slowly  turning  his  head  about  as  he  progressed 
until  his  chin  was  on  his  shoulder,  staring  back.  His 
look  the  while  remained  riveted  on  Weir — a  steady,  con- 
templative, evil  regard.  In  Chihuahua  the  engineer  had 
once  seen  a  notorious  local  "killer"  who  had  that  same 
gaze. 

Martinez  had  also  glanced  at  the  fellow. 

"Who  is  that  man?  One  of  the  discharged  work- 
men?" Weir  asked  him,  when  moving  forward  they  in 
turn  had  passed  the  Mexican. 

"No,  I  imagine  not.  At  any  rate,  he  doesn't  belong  in 
San  Mateo  or  anywhere  hereabouts.  I  know  everybody 
for  fifty  miles,  for  I've  been  active  in  social  and  political 
affairs.  He's  unknown  to  me.  A  stranger."  Then  a 
little  farther  along:  "Here  is  my  office,  Mr.  Weir.  I'll 
have  a  light  in  an  instant.  Ah,  now.  Be  so  good  as 
to  have  a  chair  and  we'll  expedite  your  business." 

As  Martinez  filled  out  the  acknowledgment  blanks 
on  the  papers,  his  eyes  furtively  skipped  over  the  vital 
portions  of  the  documents.  The  latter  were  connected 


t 

A  SHOT  IN  THE  DARK  55 

with  company  business.  He  had  hoped  they  would  be 
personal  so  that  he  might  learn  something  more  of 
this  manager's  affairs,  possibly  more  of  his  secret  an- 
tagonism for  Sorenson  and  his  friends.  Any  intrigue 
appealed  to  the  thin,  slippery  lawyer's  soul,  but  most  of 
all  some  one's  else  intrigue  into  which  he  might  profitably 
put  a  finger.  However,  from  these  papers  he  was  to 
learn  nothing. 

He  had  considered  all  possibilities  of  the  affair,  all 
possible  solutions  of  what  long  ago  might  have  occurred 
between  Joseph  Weir,  undoubtedly  the  father  of  the 
man  sitting  across  the  table  from  him,  and  the  four 
men  now  conferring  in  Sorenson's  office.  This  was  no 
petty  squabble,  he  divined.  There  was  something  going 
on  under  the  surface  that  was  big — big!  And  very 
dangerous  too,  for  the  spirit  of  that  moment  in  Vorse's 
bar  was  not  to  be  mistaken ;  it  had  been  tense,  electric. 
Utmost  caution  on  Martinez's  part  would  therefore  be 
necessary. 

As  between  the  two  parties,  his  sympathies  at  present 
inclined  towards  Weir.  The  refusal  on  the  latter*s  part 
to  reemploy  the  Mexican  workmen  on  their  own  terms 
was  purely  a  matter  of  policy,  and  the  lawyer's  first 
gusty  anger  had  long  been  forgotten.  But  not  so  Sor- 
enson's  sneering  words  of  that  afternoon.  They  struck 
to  the  heart  of  his  vanity,  breeding  an  animosity  that 
would  last.  Had  not  the  banker  stated  that  the  lawyer 
should  hold  no  political  office  whatever?  After  all  his 
services?  Had  he  not  definitely  shown  that  Martinez 
might  never  expect  anything  there?  Well,  the  lawyer 
wasn't  one  tamely  to  yield  his  rights;  he  did  not  pro- 
pose always  to  remain  a  scrimping,  pettifogging  attor- 
ney, existing  on  crumbs. 

When  with  a  flourish  he  had  appended  his  name  to 


56    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

the  acknowledgments  and  affixed  his  seal,  he  sat  back 
thoughtfully  studying  the  engineer,  who  was  carefully 
examining  the  paragraphs  for  errors.  He  knew  his  busi- 
ness, did  Martinez;  the  man  would  find  no  mistakes. 
Then  the  lawyer's  eyes  suddenly  glistened.  He  arose 
and  closed  the  door  as  Weir  thrust  the  documents  into 
a  stout  linen  envelope,  addressed  and  stamped. 

"I'll  be  pleased  to  see  your  letter  goes  in  the  mail  in 
the  morning,"  he  said,  returning  to  his  place.  "The  stage 
leaves  at  eight-thirty." 

"Post-office  is  closed  now,  I  suppose.  Very  well.  It 
will  be  an  accommodation,"  the  engineer  responded. 

Martinez  leaned  forward. 

"If  you  can  spare  the  time,  I  should  like  to  have  a 
little  talk  with  you,"  said  he.  "Pardon  me  if  I  appear 
presumptuous,  but  as  you're  aware,  Mr.  Weir,  I  over- 
heard your  words  to  Judge  Gordon  in  Vorse's  saloon.  I 
inferred — check  me  at  any  instant  if  you  consider  this 
none  of  my  business ! — that  there  exists  some  unpleasant 
feeling  between  you  two  gentlemen  and  possibly  others. 
Judge  Gordon  has  always  handled  the  company's  busi- 
ness in  his  private  capacity  of  counselor.  As  you  know, 
he's  a  silent  partner  in  many  enterprises  with  Sorenson, 
Vorse  and  a  man  named  Burkhardt.  They  run  this  town 
and  county.  You  should  also  know  that  they're  secretly 
opposed  to  your  irrigation  project,  whatever  they  pro- 
fess. They've  misled  the  people  into  believing  it  will 
work  an  injury  to  this  district,  whereas  it  will  of  course 
be  beneficial.  Unfortunately  too  they  lead  the  people 
by  the  noses — but  not  me!  I  refuse  to  be  subservient." 

He  paused  to  note  the  effect  of  his  words. 

"Now,  Mr.  Weir,  these  are  facts  you  can  confirm  if 
you're  not  already  informed  of  them,  which  I  imagine 
you  are.  Because  I'm  independent  in  my  opinions  and 


A  SHOT  IN  THE  DARK  5T 

actions,  I  stand  in  disfavor  with  these  gentlemen,  which 
may  or  may  not  be  an  objection  in  your  view  to  what 
I  have  in  mind.  And  this  is  it.  I  should  be  pleased  to 
execute  any  legal  work  that  you  care  to  give  me;  it 
might  be  of  advantage  to  your  company  at  times  to  have 
an  attorney  other  than  Judge  Gordon,  who  is  aligned 
against  you  and  will  serve  his  own  interests  first.  He's 
in  a  position  to  cause  you  embarrassment." 
"Our  eastern  attorneys  draw  all  documents." 
"Of  course.  But  I  was  thinking  of  delays  more  than 
anything  else.  There  are  a  thousand  ways  a  lawyer 
can  push  or  halt  matters  at  will,  and  your  project  will 
never  be  free  of  legal  red  tape  until  completed — if  then ! 
I'm  not  unselfish  in  this,  I  admit;  the  business  would 
be  valuable  to  me.  But  aside  from  that,  I'll  give  you 
this  advice  anyway : — secure  another  lawyer  in  any  case, 
one  without  antagonistic  personal  interests,  if  you  can 
find  another  in  San  Mateo  besides  me.  See,  I'm  frank! 
That  may  sound  egotistical,  but  really  I'm  the  only 
free  man  of  the  lawyers  here.  And  I've  paid  for  my 
liberty!"  He  made  a  sweeping  gesture  to  indicate  his 
shabby  office.  "If  I  had  taken  orders,  I  could  have  been 
county  attorney  and  probably  a  judge.  But  I  respect 
myself  too  much  to  take  orders  from  Sorenson  and  his 
bunch.  I  choose  this  sort  of  thing  in  preference." 

Steele  Weir  maintained  a  non-committal  silence. 
Again  the  thin  dark-skinned  lawyer  swiftly  weighed  the 
man  before  him,  considered  the  dangers  in  which  he 
might  become  involved  if  he  went  a  step  farther,  re- 
coiled, then  grew  bolder.  Sorenson  had  marked  him  for 
poverty  and  nonentity;  under  the  favoring  shelter  of 
the  irrigation  company's  power  he  might  arise  from 
both.  For  at  moments  the  acute  Mexican  sensed  the 
inevitable  victory  of  the  new  forces  at  work;  this,  one 


58    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

of  the  last  strong-holds  of  old  time  cattle  and  sheep  in- 
terests, would  break  down  and  yield  to  the  plow  and 
fence. 

"Now,  there's  something  more,  though  I  hesitate  to 
mention  it,"  he  went  on,  doubtfully.  "While  Sorenson 
and  his  crowd  run  things,  it's  not  because  the  people — 
and  that  means  us  Mexicans  chiefly — love  them.  We're 
indolent  by  nature;  we  idle  rather  than  work;  borrow 
when  we  can  rather  than  earn — I  speak  of  our  race,  but 
we're  learning  that  work  proves  best  in  the  long  run. 
These  men  have  squeezed  my  people,  and  robbed  them, 
and  kept  them  down.  Nothing  more  would  I  wish  than  to 
see  these  leaders  deposed.  It's  no  secret  they've  built 
their  wealth  by  questionable  methods,  but  who  can  prove 
it? 

"Do  you  know  what  I  suspect?  You  have  something 
on  Sorenson's  crowd.  That's  why  they're  uneasy ;  that's 
why  the  four  are  sitting  over  in  the  cattle  company's 
office  this  minute  with  their  heads  together,  meeting  the 
minute  Sorenson  arrives  home.  I  saw  them  go  in.  Leav- 
ing aside  the  question  of  your  own  affairs,  I'd  like  to 
have  matters  changed  here  in  this  county  so  that  every 
man  has  a  fair  chance.  Anything  that  will  bring  that 
about  enlists  my  interest.  When  I  heard  your  statement 
to  Gordon  and  saw  his  face,  I  knew  there  was  something 
in  the  past  that  alarmed  him.  I  recalled  a  name  I  had 
once  run  across  when  abstracting  a  title " 

It  was  not  this  ingenious  twisting  of  the  truth  that 
caused  the  lawyer  to  become  filled  with  sudden  dismay 
and  stop,  but  the  savage  hardening  of  the  engineer's 
face. 

"Go  on,"  Weir  commanded. 

"Well,  the  name  was  Joseph  Weir.  I  looked  it  up 
again  to  be  sure,  and  found  the  property  had  been  deeded 


A  SHOT  IN  THE  DARK  59 

to  Sorenson  and  the  others,  who  still  have  it.  I  won- 
dered  " 

"What  did  you  wonder  ?"  came  with  a  devouring  look. 

"If — if  Joseph  Weir  received  consideration  according 
to  law."  Martinez*  courage  flowed  back  again.  "I'll 
make  no  attempt  to  justify  my  curiosity,  sir,  except  to 
say  that  more  than  one  man  in  the  southwest  was  done 
out  of  property  in  early  days ;  and  the  practice  has  not 
ceased,  for  that  matter.  But  in  these  days  the  means 
is  usually  legal  and  Mexicans  the  victims.  Sharp  mort- 
gage dealings  and  so  forth.  Now,  if  I've  said  too  much, 
111  instantly  forget  all  about  it.  On  the  other 
hand " 

"Well?" 

"I  might  be  of  assistance.  If  you  wish  to  look  into 
that  old  transaction,  that  is.  If  there  was  anything 
crooked  about  the  deal,  and  I  set  it  down  that  there 
was  with  Sorenson  mixed  in,  and  with  Vorse  and  Burk- 
hardt  the  witnesses  named  in  the  deed  and  Judge  Gor- 
don taking  the  acknowledgment  of  Joseph  Weir's  signa- 
ture, as  the  record  shows,  then  there  should  be  some 
weak  spot  that  could  be  attacked.  There  may  be  men 
yet  alive  conversant  with  the  circumstances ;  they  may 
know  whether  duress  or  fraud  was  exercised,  supposing 
the  sale  was  not  honest.  Some  of  the  old  Mexicans  may 
remember  Weir,  and  could  give  a  clue;  they  have  good 
memories  for  things  of  those  days.  Of  course,  if  the 
transaction  was  all  right,  then  I'm  all  wrong  in  my 
suppositions." 

Weir  arose. 

"I  can  give  you  some  of  the  company  business,  perhaps 
considerable  of  it,"  he  said. 

Martinez  sprang  up,  an  expression  of  gratitude  upon 


60    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

his  face.  He  had  not  realized  all  that  he  had  hoped  for, 
but  he  was  nevertheless  delighted. 

"I'm  really  sincere  when  I  give  you  a  thousand 
thanks,  Mr.  Weir,"  said  he,  spreading  his  arms  wide. 
"I'll  not  make  promises  as  to  the  efficiency  of  my 
services;  let  results  speak  for  themselves." 

"I  always  do,"  was  the  comment.  "But  I'll  tell  you 
what  I  demand  in  any  one  associated  with  me — absolute 
trustworthiness  first  of  all,  then  loyalty  and  ability." 

"Which  leaves  nothing,"  Martinez  smiled. 

He  preceded  the  engineer  and  swung  the  door  open, 
stepping  aside.  To  the  visitor's  question  regarding 
fees  for  the  acknowledgments  taken,  he  waved  a  declin- 
ing hand. 

"Nothing,  nothing.  Delighted  to  render  you  the 
service." 

"Very  well." 

"I'll  attend  to  the  letter,"  the  lawyer  again  assured 
him. 

"Come  out  to  the  dam  in  a  day  or  two." 

"To-morrow,  if  you  wish." 

"To-morrow  afternoon  will  do." 

Steele  Weir's  frame  filled  the  lighted  doorway  as  he 
stepped  forth  from  the  office.  He  paused  to  accustom 
his  eyes  to  the  darkness,  for  during  his  colloquy  with  the 
attorney  full  night  had  descended.  On  the  same  side  of 
the  street  with  himself  and  perhaps  twelve  or  fifteen 
paces  off  he  saw  a  girl's  figure  appear  and  disappear  be- 
fore a  window  as  she  moved  along. 

Then  suddenly  a  tongue  of  red  flame  darted  at  him 
across  the  street,  where  lay  a  space  of  unlighted  gloom. 
His  hat  was  whipped  off  his  head.  The  sharp  report 
of  a  shot  cracked  between  the  adobe  walls.  With  an 
unbelievably  rapid  movement  Steele  Weir  drew  the  re- 


A  SHOT  IN  THE  DARK  61 

volver  in  his  pocket,  and  which  he  had  carried  ever 
since  his  encounter  with  young  Sorenson  in  the  restau- 
rant, fired  twice  where  he  had  seen  the  flame  and  leaped 
aside  into  the  darkness  beside  the  doorway.  There  he 
waited,  half  crouching,  for  a  further  attack. 

But  none  came.  Men  began  to  run  towards  the  place. 
Shouts  and  calls  echoed  along  the  street.  In  two  min- 
utes a  crowd  was  surging  before  Martinez'  door  wildly 
asking  questions. 

Weir  pocketed  his  pistol  and  walked  back  into  the 
office,  where  he  found  his  bullet-pierced  hat  lying  on  the 
floor  and  the  attorney  standing  frozen  with  astonish- 
ment. A  stream  of  people  followed  at  his  heels. 

''Who  did  this  shooting?  Do  you  know,  Felipe?"  a 
tall  raw-boned  white  man  who  led  them  asked  hastily. 

"This  gentleman,  Mr.  Weir,  was  fired  on,  sheriff," 
Martinez  burst  out  volubly. 

"And  I  fired  in  return,"  the  engineer  stated.  "The 
fellow  was  across  the  street  in  the  dark.  You  might  look 
over  there." 

Turning  and  pushing  his  way  through  the  packed 
door,  the  sheriff  disappeared.  The  crowd  melted  away 
again.  Presently  as  Weir  glanced  about  he  saw  a  new 
figure  at  the  doorway,  staring  at  him.  He  went  toward* 
the  girl  there  outlined  in  the  lamplight.  ' 

"Was  that  you  I  saw  moving  along  just  before  the 
exchange  of  compliments,  Miss  Hosmer?"  he  asked. 

"Yes.    I  was  coming  towards  you  on  my  way  home." 

"It  probably  gave  you  a  fright." 

"It  did,  indeed.  I  heard  the  shot  and  saw  your  hat 
knocked  off.  I  just  went  cold  in  my  tracks.  At  first  I 
believed  you  killed." 

"I'm  very  much  alive,  as  you  see." 


62     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

"But  it  was  dreadful!  Who  would  fire  at  you  from 
the  dark?  Some  one  tried  to  murder  you!" 

"It  looks  like  it.  Still  here  I  am,  ready  to  move  your 
car  out  of  the  water  next  time  it's  stalled." 

She  entered  the  room  slowly. 

"Who  in  San  Mateo  would  do  such  a  terrible  thing, 
Mr.  Martinez?"  she  addressed  the  lawyer.  The  pallor 
was  still  on  her  face  and  her  eyes  were  large  with  horror. 

"Ah,  Miss  Janet,  if  we  but  knew!  We'd  lay  hands 
on  him  and  send  him  to  the  penitentiary." 

Real  emotion  struggled  in  the  lawyer's  words.  With 
the  return  of  his  senses  he  had  just  begun  to  realize  by 
what  a  narrow  margin  the  assassin's  bullet  had  missed 
destroying  his  future  client  and  prospects. 

A  growing  murmur  across  the  street  attracted  their 
attention.  Then  as  they  continued  to  chat  of  the  event, 
the  sheriff  reappeared,  directing  half  a  dozen  men  who 
laid  a  burden  in  the  light  of  Martinez'  doorway. 

"You  got  him,"  he  said  to  Weir,  with  ominous  sig- 
nificance. "One  bullet  through  the  head,  one  through 
his  stomach.  He's  good  and  dead." 

Weir  walked  forward  and  inspected  that  outstretched 
figure.  It  was  the  man  whose  gaze  had  been  so  malevo- 
lently fastened  upon  him  as  he  joined  Martinez  before 
Sorenson's  office. 

"Who  is  he?"  he  asked. 

"A  strange  Mexican.  Some  of  these  men  say  he 
showed  up  this  morning  and  hung  around  the  saloons, 
not  talking  much.  Haven't  you  ever  seen  him  before?" 
The  question  expressed  a  perplexed  curiosity. 

"Once.  When  Martinez  and  I  were  coming  here  to 
transact  some  business.  He  was  taking  a  good  look  at 
me  then  when  he  passed  us.  That  wasn't  over  half  an 
hour  ago.  Never  saw  him  before  that." 


A  SHOT  IN  THE  DARK  63 

"He  shot  at  you  first?" 

"I  had  just  stepped  out  of  this  room.  Could  I  see 
him  hiding  over  there?  Or  know  he  was  there?"  Then 
he  added,  "I  was  taken  by  surprise,  but  I  marked  the 
flash  of  his  gun." 

The  sheriff,  Madden  by  name,  looked  at  Weir  appre- 
ciatively. 

"You  can  use  a  gun  yourself,"  said  he,  briefly. 

Martinez  now  repeated  the  fact  of  the  dead  man  hav- 
ing fired  the  first  shot,  which  Janet  Hosmer  confirmed. 

"Well,  is  there  anything  more?"  Weir  questioned. 

"Not  to-night,  I  reckon,"  Madden  replied.  "We'll 
have  an  inquest  in  the  morning;  show  up  then.  Where 
will  I  find  your  father,  Miss  Hosmer?" 

"At  home."  Then  to  the  engineer  she  explained, 
"Father  acts  in  the  absence  of  the  coroner,  who's  away 
just  now." 

"I'm  very  sorry  this  happened  on  your  account,"  said 
he. 

"And  I'm  very  glad  you  were  not  hurt." 

Outside  the  corpse  was  being  borne  away,  followed 
by  the  curious,  avid  crowd  of  Mexicans. 

"You're  still  shaken  by  the  thing,"  said  Steele  Weir. 
"It's  enough  to  upset  any  girl.  Let  me  walk  home  with 
you,  or  you  may  be  starting  at  shadows  all  the  way." 


CHAPTER  VI 

JANET    HOSMER 

A  SILVERY  brightness  shone  in  the  east  as  they  came 
out  of  Martinez*  office,  that  increased  as  they  went  for- 
ward until  all  at  once  the  moon  arose  into  view,  lighting 
the  street,  disclosing  the  flanking  lines  of  squat  build- 
ings, revealing  the  tall  cottonwoods  about  the  court 
house  and  elsewhere  thrust  up  in  the  town. 

Janet  Hosmer  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief.  The  dark- 
ness had  seemed  potent  for  further  evil,  but  now  it  was 
as  if  the  latter  retreated  with  the  shadows.  She  felt  a 
desire  to  go  on  alone,  to  separate  herself  from  this  com- 
panion with  whom  chance  had  brought  her  in  contact 
at  a  dramatic  moment,  to  get  away  from  the  whole 
terrible  affair.  Involuntarily  her  spirit  shrank  at  the 
nearness  of  the  man,  for  though  he  had  struck  back  in 
self-defense  he  nevertheless  had  killed  another  and  the 
act  somehow  appeared  to  set  him  apart  from  ordinary 
men,  isolate  him,  give  him  the  character  of  an  Ishmael. 

Yet  her  feelings  were  confused.  Against  this  inclina- 
tion was  an  avid  curiosity,  or  rather  a  wonderment,  as 
to  what  must  now  be  occurring  in  his  soul.  Her  eyes 
sought  his  face  as  he  walked  beside  her.  Neither  had 
spoken;  and  his  countenance  wore  the  same  stern  con- 
tained aspect,  calm,  forceful,  as  the  first  time  she  had 
ever  observed  it.  But  what  was  below  the  surface? 
What  were  the  thoughts  now  revolving  in  his  mind  and 
the  emotions  flowing  in  his  breast?  She  could  read  noth- 

64 


JANET  HOSMER  65 

ing  on  that  composed  mask  of  a  face.  Was  it  possible 
for  a  man  to  slay  another  human  being,  even  justifiably, 
without  suffering  a  hurricane  of  the  spirit? 

But  perhaps  he  had  killed  men  before.  The  fact  of 
his  carrying  a  weapon  and  his  swift  deadly  fire  pointed 
ominously  to  previous  experience. 

"Did  you  ever  shoot  any  one  before?"  popped  from, 
between  her  lips.  Then  she  stopped,  clapping  her  hand 
over  her  mouth  in  consternation  and  staring  at  him 
palely. 

Weir  had  halted  too.  He  regarded  her  in  silence  for 
a  little,  a  slight  smile  resting  on  his  face.  They  stood 
before  the  cattle  company's  office  and  his  look  went  past 
her  once  to  embrace  the  small  darkened  building. 

"I'm  not  a  murderer  by  trade,  if  that's  what  you 
mean,"  said  he,  at  last.  "But  I've  killed  a  man  or  two 
before,  yes."  Then  at  the  white  anguish  of  her  lips  and 
cheeks,  his  tone  softened  a  degree  as  he  went  on.  "Un- 
fortunately since  becoming  of  age  I've  had  to  fight.  If 
not  men,  then  the  earth.  If  not  the  earth,  then  men. 
Sometimes  both  together.  You  saw  what  happened  to- 
night; that  fellow  was  unknown  to  me.  He  was  not  a 
workman  who  had  been  discharged  and  felt  he  had  a 
grievance " 

"Oh,  no!"  she  interjected.  "The  Mexicans  here 
wouldn't  attempt  to  murder  you,  however  angry  they 
might  feel." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  he  answered. 

"But  I  am ;  I  know  them7  I've  lived  among  them !" 

"Well,  let  that  go.  The  man  tried  to  kill  me,  at  any 
rate.  However,  he  was  merely  a  tool,  hired  for  the 
business  by  some  one  else.  Ordinarily  I  don't  discuss  my 
affairs  with  any  one,  but  since  you've  raised  the  matter 


66     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

I'll  just  say  that  Fve  enemies  in  San  Mateo  who  are 
anxious  to  dispose  of  me." 

"Such  enemies  here!" 

"Yes.  Who  would  be  delighted  to  see  me  lie  where 
that  dead  man  lies  and  who  are  apparently  determined 
to  effect  it."  He  touched  her  sleeve  warningly.  "But 
you  will  speak  of  this  to  no  one." 

"No,  oh,  no !    Not  a  word !" 

Steele  gazed  at  her  steadily.  He  already  repented 
disclosing  even  so  little  of  his  private  concerns,  an  im- 
pulse altogether  at  variance  with  his  close-mouthed 
habit,  but  he  had,  for  some  vague  reason,  felt  it  neces- 
sary to  explain  his  course,  to  justify  himself  to  this 
clear-eyed,  fine-spirited  girl.  He  could  not  let  her  rest 
under  a  misapprehension  that  he  was  a  brute  who  reveled 
in  blood-spilling.  And  as  he  regarded  her  a  con- 
viction that  she  was  absolutely  to  be  trusted  settled 
firmly  into  his  mind. 

She  would  be  staunch ;  oxen  and  ropes  could  not  drag 
information  from  her  once  she  had  determined  not  to 
speak.  Yes,  she  would  be  loyal  to  her  given  word — and 
to  her  friends.  Weir's  eyes  glanced  at  the  diamond  on 
her  finger.  It  would  be  a  girl  like  her  with  whom  he 
would  have  chosen  to  mate  if  fate  had  not  directed  his 
feet  on  a  road  which  seemingly  left  him  no  choice  but 
incessant  and  solitary  struggle. 

"I  hate  it  all ;  I  have  nothing  but  crusts  and  nettles  !*' 
he  exclaimed,  with  sudden  fierce  passion.  And  with  a 
quick  movement  of  his  hand  he  beckoned  her  on. 

Submissively  she  accompanied  him,  her  bosom  rising 
and  falling  with  a  quickened  rhythm.  Too  much  had 
happened,  one  thing  piling  on  another,  for  her  to  sort 
her  thoughts  or  to  attempt  to  understand  things  yet; 
and  in  her  tossing  state  of  mind  she  went  at  his  gesture 


JANET  HOSMER  67 

as  one  follows  a  guide,  or  as  a  simple  matter  of  course. 

In  her  mental  turmoil  that  last  passionate  utterance 
of  the  man  played  like  a  lambent  flame.  Tense,  vio- 
lent, spontaneous,  it  had  come  from  the  heart.  What 
harsh  lot  he  had  lived  and  sufferings  borne  she  could 
not  even  guess ;  but  no  man  spoke  with  such  unconscious 
bitterness  who  had  not  undergone  pain  and  travail  of 
spirit.  His  head  was  now  turned  a  little  towards  her 
as  they  walked :  she  perceived  him  staring  at  the  moon- 
lit street,  his  lips  compressed,  his  brows  knit. 

Then  he  glanced  about  at  her,  his  face  clearing. 

"Pay  no  attention  to  what  I  said,"  he  remarked.  "I 
shouldn't  have  let  loose  that  way.  Hello,  what's  OB 
now?" 

Before  them,  and  in  front  of  the  court  house,  was  a 
packed  crowd,  people  who  had  run  forth  at  the  sound 
of  shots,  augmented  by  those  who  had  since  arrived 
upon  the  scene.  It  was  motionless. 

"Stand  back,  stand  back;  don't  trample  the  body!" 
came  Sheriff  Madden's  voice  in  an  angry  order. 

The  crowd  surged  a  little  apart  in  the  center. 

"How  do  you  know  this  dead  man  fired  the  first 
shot?"  asked  some  one,  vehemently. 

The  voices  went  lower  so  that  Steele  Weir  and  Janet 
Hosmer,  who  had  paused  at  the  edge  of  the  throng, 
were  able  only  to  catch  the  tones. 

"Who  was  that  who  questioned  the  sheriff?"  Weif 
whispered. 

"Mr.  Burkhardt,  I  think.     Sounded  like  him.'* 

So  intent  were  the  Mexicans  upon  the  occurrence  in 
their  midst  that  those  close  by  remained  with  backs 
towards  the  pair,  failing  to  notice  their  presence.  All 
craned  eagerly  to  miss  nothing  of  the  controversy. 


68     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

"How  do  you  know  this  engineer  didn't  start  it?" 
came  Burkhardt's  voice  again. 

"Don't  be  a  fool;  there  were  witnesses." 

"I'd  like  to  talk  to  those  witnesses.  I  doubt  if  they 
really  saw  anything.  It  looks  to  me  as  if  there's  an- 
other side  to  this  shooting." 

"Well,  of  course  you  know — you,  sitting1  there  in 
Sorenson's  office,  as  you  say,"  was  the  ironical  retort. 

At  this  juncture  another  voice  interposed. 

"Madden,  we  want  no  mistake  here.  This  Weir 
doesn't  bear  a  very  good  reputation  for  peacefulness, 
from  what  I've  learned.  If  this  Mexican  has  simply 
been  shot  down " 

"Who  is  that?"  Steele  demanded  of  the  girl.  "I  can't 
$ee  him." 

"That" — Janet  Hosmer's  speech  faltered — "that  is 
Mr.  Sorenson.  Oh,  they  misunderstand!  Let  me  push 
in  there  and  tell  them  how  it  happened." 

The  engineer's  hand  closed  about  her  arm. 

"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  he  commanded,  low. 

"But " 

"No.     Remain  quiet  and  listen." 

Her  eyes  flew  up  to  his  at  this  extraordinary  course, 
so  injurious  to  his  own  interests.  She  was  anxious  to 
press  to  the  front  and  declare  his  innocence  in  the  affair 
of  everything  but  defending  his  life  from  an  assassin. 
She  could  not  understand  why  he  also  was  not  eager  to 
spring  forward,  why  he  restrained  her.  Then  she  saw 
the  implacable  hatred  on  his  face. 

A  thrill  quivered  through  her  body.  The  feeling  she 
had  at  that  instant  was  one  of  being  on  the  point  of 
seeing  behind  the  curtain  of  a  mystery,  of  making  a 
discovery  so  sinister  that  she  would  gasp.  Her  very 
finger  almost  rested  upon  it.  Why  were  Mr.  Sorenson 


JANET  HOSMER  69 

and  Mr.  Burkhardt  talking  as  they  were?  Trying  by 
innuendo  to  make  it  seem  her  companion  might  have  been 

guilty  of  a  crime?  Could  it  be Her  blood  slowly 

congealed  to  ice  at  the  horror  of  where  her  reasoning 
led. 

Could  it  be  they  were  the  enemies  he  meant! 

Such  a  thing  was  too  dreadful,  too  absurd.  They,  the 
respected  leaders  of  the  community,  could  never  put  a 
pistol  in  the  dead  wretch's  hand  to  slay  this  man  beside 

her.  Mr.  Sorenson !  The  father  of  Ed,  whom She 

stared  blankly  at  her  left  hand. 

Yet  the  banker's  heavy,  smooth  words  continued  to 
assail  her  ears  steadily.  She  grasped  their  import  once 
more. 

" — for  the  story  is  too  thin.  No  man  could  hit 
another  across  the  street  in  the  dark  as  this  engineer 
claims,  not  only  once  but  twice  put  a  bullet  where  it 
would  kill.  Probably  the  dead  man  had  something  on 
this  Weir,  and  the  latter  knew  it.  It's  not  impossible 
he  found  the  fellow  in  his  path,  drew  and  murdered  him 
at  once,  quickly  put  a  hole  in  his  own  hat  and  then 
carried  the  body  across  the  way,  running  back  to  Mar- 
tinez' office.  The  thing  could  have  been  done  in  a 
minute.  Martinez'  himself  wouldn't  have  seen  how  it  was 
worked.  I'm  not  saying  that  was  exactly  how  it  was 
done,  or  that  this  Weir  did  actually  murder  him,  but — 
investigate,  Madden,  investigate." 

Steele  Weir  felt  an  angry  tug  at  his  sleeve.  He  looked 
around  and  beheld  Janet  Hosmer's  eyes  distended  with 
incredulity. 

"Come  away,  come  away,"  she  whispered.  "I  should 
never  have  believed  it  if  I  hadn't  heard  with  my  own 
ears !" 

Keeping  close  to  the  line  of  buildings,  they  skirted 


70     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

the  crowd,  still  unnoticed,  and  left  it  behind.  She 
walked  with  quick  nervous  steps;  her  hand  yet  uncon- 
sciously grasped  his  coat  sleeve.  All  the  way  to  her 
home,  which  they  found  dark  since  a  messenger  had 
called  the  doctor  to  the  court  house  and  the  Mexican 
girl  servant  also  was  gone,  she  said  nothing. 

"Come  up  on  the  veranda;  I  want  to  talk,"  she  an- 
nounced when  he  opened  the  gate. 

'Wouldn't  it  be  best  if  you  took  your  mind  off  the 
whole  thing,  by  a  book  or  something  else  ?  I'll  go." 

"As  if  I  could  take  my  mind  off!  There  are  matters 
in  this  I  must  know.  You  may  wonder  when  I  say  it, 
Mr.  Weir,  but  this  happening  concerns  me  more  than 
you  dream."  Her  dark  glowing  gaze  brooded  on  him 
with  a  sort  of  intense  determination.  Then  she  went  on, 
"It — it  involves  my  whole  future  as  well  as  your  own, 
though  in  a  different  way.  So  come  inside,  if  you 
please." 

Weir  in  silence  accompanied  her  upon  the  dark,  broad, 
vine-clad  porch.  In  the  half-gloom  he  found  chairs  for 
them. 

"I'm  going  to  the  point  at  once,"  she  declared.  "Why 
did  Mr.  Sorenson  talk  in  such  a  fashion?"  And  he 
could  feel  her  bending  forward  as  if  hanging  on  his 
answer. 

"That's  the  one  thing  I  can't  discuss,"  said  he. 

"I  must  know,  I  must  know." 

"And  unhappily  I  must  refuse." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Weir,  if  you  could  but  understand  what 
this  involves  for  me,  you  wouldn't  hesitate!  I  was 
shocked  at  the  shooting,  but  I  saw  its  necessity  on  your 
part;  you're  not  one  to  run  from  a  foe,  a  cowardly  foe 
least  of  all.  But  what  I  heard  there  in  the  street  horri- 
fied me.  I  couldn't  believe  it;  I  can  scarcely  credit  my 


JANET  HOSMER  71 

ears  yet.  Mr.  Sorenson  and  Mr.  Burkhardt  were  not 
near  when  you  were  attacked;  they  are  not  acquainted 
with  the  circumstances  or  facts  as  you,  Mr.  Martinez 
and  I  know  them;  they  apparently  didn't  appear  until 
the  crowd  started  away  with  the  dead  man.  Yet  at 
once " 

"Ay,  at  once,"  Steele  Weir  let  slip. 

"At  once,  immediately,  when  they  had  barely  heard 
the  story,  they  began  to  tear  it  to  pieces  and  suggest 
another,  making  you  out  a  villain.  You're  only  an  ac- 
quaintance, sir,  scarcely  more  than  a  stranger,  but  as 
I  listened  it  outraged  all  my  sense  of  justice.  Mr. 
Sorenson,  of  all  men!  My  brain  was  in  a  whirl.  But 
it's  steady  now." 

The  engineer  failed  to  open  his  lips  at  her  pause. 

"I'm  no  fool,  Mr.  Weir;  I  think  of  other  things  be- 
sides dressing  my  hair  and  using  a  powder  puff.     I  can . 
sometimes  put  two  and  two  together — when  I  see  the 
'twos'  clearly.     Now,  tell  me  why  Mr.  Sorenson  talked 
as  he  did,  for  I  must  have  my  eyes  clear." 

"Ask  me  anything  but  that,  Miss  Hosmer." 

He  sat  distressed  and  uneasy  at  her  prolonged  mute- 
ness. Suddenly  she  questioned  quietly : 

"Are  those  two  men  the  enemies  you  spoke  off?" 

"It  will  save  me  embarrassment  if  I  go,"  he  remarked, 
starting  to  rise.  "I  don't  want  you  to  hate  me,  you 
know,  and  still  I  can't  say  anything." 

Her  grasp  pulled  him  imperatively  back. 

"You  shall  not  go  yet." 

"Then  I  can  only  continue  to  decline  making  answers^ 
I  frankly  say  that  I  regret  having  uttered  a  word  of 
explanation." 

"I  don't  regret  it.  And  I  intend  to  keep  questioning1 
you,  however  rude  you  may  think  me.  I  must  know," 


72     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

she  cried  impetuously,  "and  I  shall  know!  Mr.  Soren- 
son  is  one  of  the  men  you  referred  to,  or  he  would  never 
seek  to  direct  suspicion  at  you.  I  saw  the  look  on  your 
face,  sir,  as  he  spoke.  But  why  should  you  two  be 
enemies !  You  come  here  a  stranger  to  San  Mateo,  or 
have  you  been  here  before  sometime?  Did  you  know 
him  before?'* 

Again  he  could  feel  her  eyes  straining  at  him. 

"It  seems  mad  to  think  of  him  and  Mr.  Burkhardt, 
and  perhaps  others,  hiring  some  one  to  shoot  you  down 
from  a  dark  doorway.  It  is  utterly  mad — crazy.  But 
why  should  they  want  to  convict  you,  in  the  crowd's 
opinion  at  least,  of  murdering  the  man.  It  would  not 
be  just  trouble  about  the  dam — oh,  no.  But  I  can't  see 
through  it  at  all.  Why  won't  you  tell  me?  You  can 
trust  me — and  I  want  to  help  you  as  well  as  help  myself. 
You  certainly  don't  hold  against  me  my  silly  nonsense 
and  unkind  words  of  the  day  you  brought  me  home  from 
the  ford." 

"I  didn't  think  them  silly ;  they  delighted  me,"  he  re- 
sponded. "I  hadn't  had  anything  happen  to  me  so  re- 
freshing in  years." 

"We  must  be  friends.  Something  tells  me  they're 
going  to  make  you  trouble  over  this  shooting,  and  you'll 
need  friends." 

"Something  tells  me  you're  right  in  both  respects," 
he  laughed. 

"And  friends  must  stick  together." 

"That's  what  they  should  do." 

In  the  dusk  of  the  vine-clad,  flower-scented  place 
where  they  sat  he  experienced  the  subtle  power  of  this 
intimacy.  Not  a  soul  stirred  in  the  empty  moonlit 
street  before  the  house.  No  sounds  disturbed  the  warm 


JANET  HOSMER  73 

peace  of  the  night.  In  this  secluded  spot  only  there 
ran  the  murmur  of  their  voices. 

"I  could  never  stand  by  and  see  any  man  unjustly 
accused  and  defamed  if  I  knew  he  was  innocent,  without 
lifting  up  my  word  in  defense,"  she  proceeded.  "But 
let  me  ask  if  on  your  side  you're  treating  me  fairly  ?" 

Weir  could  have  groaned. 

"You  have  a  noble  spirit,  Miss  Hosmer.  You're  more 
courageous  and  kind  than  any  girl  I've  ever  known. 
Would  you  have  me  reveal  what  my  best  judgment  tells 
me  should  remain  untold?" 

"But  what  of  me?  Would  you  keep  it  to  yourself  if 
my  future  happiness  might  turn  on  it?" 

The  appeal  in  her  words  shook  Steele's  heart. 

"How  does  this  business  affect  your  happiness? 
How?"  he  asked,  in  perplexity. 

Now  it  was  her  turn  to  hesitate.  Why  should  she 
pause,  indeed,  before  telling  to  this  man  what  every  one 
else  knew.  Yet  hesitate  she  did,  from  a  feeling  she  could 
but  partly  analyze.  Of  her  fiance  she  had  already  had 
disturbing  secret  doubts  that  had  increased  of  late: 
doubts  of  his  habits,  his  character  and  the  genuineness 
of  his  love;  so  that  it  was  with  a  little  eddy  of  dissat- 
isfaction and  shame  that  she  admitted  the  relationship. 
More  she  questioned  her  own  love  as  an  actual  thing. 
In  a  startling  way,  too,  this  silent,  forceful  man,  so 
deadly  in  earnest  and  so  earnestly  deadly,  so  terrible  in 
some  aspects,  seemed  at  the  instant  to  dwarf  the  other 
in  stature  and  power  as  if  the  latter  were  a  plump  mani- 
kin. 

Perhaps  at  the  last  minute  she  had  a  shiver  of  dread 
at  what  might  issue  from  the  engineer's  lips  in  the  way 
of  facts  if  he  took  her  at  her  word  and  told  her  what 
she  had  demanded  to  know.  Did  she  want  to  know? 


74     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

Suppose  she  let  the  affair  rest  where  it  was  and  went 
forward  to  the  future  in  the  comfortable  assurance  of 
ignorance. 

In  that  case,  it  might  be  wooing  later  revelations  that 
then  could  not  be  escaped,  revelations  like  consuming 
lightnings.  She  would  settle  it  now  once  for  all. 

"It  does  concern  my  future  and  my  happiness  vitally," 
she  declared,  earnestly.  "For  this  reason " 

"Yes?" 

"I'm  engaged  to  marry  Ed  Sorenson,  son  of  Mr.  Sor- 
enson." 

Weir  leaped  to  his  feet. 

"Good  God!    That  fellow!"  he  exclaimed,  astounded. 

Without  another  word  he  sprang  down  the  steps  and 
strode  away.  Janet  Hosmer,  grasping  the  arms  of  her 
chair  and  staring  after  him,  saw  him  once  bring  down 
his  clenched  fist  on  nothing.  Then  he  passed  rapidly 
along  the  street  and  out  of  sight. 


CHAPTER  VH 

IN  THE  COIL 

THE  Spirit  of  Irony  couldn't  have  devised  a  more 
intolerable  situation.  So  thought  Steele  Weir  as  he 
strode  away  from  the  dwelling,  still  laboring  under  the 
emotions  provoked  by  the  girl's  disclosure,  wincing  at 
his  own  biting  thoughts  and  writhing  at  his  own  help- 
lessness. It  needed  only  this  revelation  to  cap  the 
whole  diabolical  evening. 

He  could  not  have  remained  with  her  now  if  his  life 
had  depended  on  it.  She,  engaged  to  that  scoundrel 
Ed  Sorenson !  How  could  she  have  been  so  blind  to  the 
lustful  beast's  nature?  She  must  love  him,  of  course. 
He  must  have  been  careful  to  exhibit  to  her  only  such 
qualities  as  would  gain  her  affection  and  respect,  or 
rather  hollow  shams  of  qualities  he  never  had  possessed. 
Propinquity,  lack  of  rivals  in  this  little  town,  no  doubt 
were  largely  responsible  for  her  feeling  for  the  man, 
But  it  was  like  standing  by  and  seeing  her  fair  young 
body,  her  fresh  pure  life,  her  high  soul,  flung  to  a  de- 
vouring swine. 

And  by  the  rules  of  the  game  he  couldn't  open  his 
lips  to  utter  a  word  of  warning!  That  was  the  worst 
of  it,  that  was  the  worst  of  it.  No,  not  by  the  rules  of 
the  game ;  not,  for  that  matter,  by  the  rules  of  life ;  for 
the  latter  run  that  only  can  the  person  concerned  see 
with  his  or  her  own  eyes  what  a  loved  one's  character 
is,  and  must  make  and  abide  by  her  own  judgments. 

75 


76     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

Steele  Weir  all  at  once  stopped  in  his  tracks.  He 
stared  straight  before  him  for  a  time  seeing  Janet  Hos- 
mer's  face  as  it  appeared  when  she  anxiously  gazed  at 
him  from  Martinez'  door,  coming  out  of  the  night  like 
a  pallid  moon-flower.  At  that  instant  she  had  feared 
he  had  been  wounded;  her  heart  was  fluttering  with 
anguish.  The  tension  of  his  body  relaxed  and  his  hands 
slowly  unclosed  and  involuntarily  his  eyes  went  up  to 
the  moon  sailing  serenely  in  the  sky  above  the  treetops 
and  the  flat-roofed  adobe  houses.  What  vaster  blessing 
could  life  bestow  than  to  have  such  a  look  come  seeking 
one  beloved! 

He  went  on  thoughtfully. 

"She  shall  not  marry  him,"  he  said  to  himself,  with 
a  quick  resolve. 

What  were  the  rules  of  any  game  when  an  innocent 
girl's  happiness  was  at  stake?  Did  he  care  for  con 
ventions,  or  even  the  contempt  she  herself  might  feel 
for  him  for  apparently  belittling  her  lover?  He  could 
stand  that,  so  that  her  eyes  were  opened  and  the  fel- 
low's yellow  heart  made  plain.  At  the  proper  time  he 
should  act,  view  his  part  as  she  might.  A  snap  of  his 
fingers  for  being  misunderstood !  He  would  go  his  own 
way  afterwards. 

The  thing  had  its  curious  features,  too.  No  mistake, 
the  shock  of  hearing  Sorenson  senior  talking  to  the 
sheriff  and  the  crowd,  working  up  sentiment,  had  stirred 
her  indignation  and  wonder  and  uneasiness  and  alarm. 
She  was  no  fool,  as  she  had  said.  She  had  a  clear,  prac- 
tical mind,  give  it  something  to  work  on.  Her  intui- 
tion had  immediately  grasped  the  fact  that  there  might 
be  cellars  under  the  Sorenson  household  of  which  she 
knew  nothing  and  which  should  be  promptly  entered  with 
a  strong  light.  Whether  the  momentary  desire  would 


IN  THE  COIL  77 

last,  that  was  the  question.  To-morrow,  or  the  first  time 
she  found  herself  in  Ed  Sorenson's  reassuring  presence, 
she  might  consider  that  her  brain  had  been  upset  by 
events  of  this  night,  jiggled  awry  in  a  sort  of  moonlight 
madness,  and  her  apprehensions  as  to  happiness  un- 
founded shadows. 

Well,  Weir  would  strike  later. 

He  turned  into  the  main  street.  Evidently  the  body 
of  the  dead  Mexican  had  been  carried  into  the  jail  be- 
hind the  court  house,  or  somewhere.  The  throng  had 
dispersed,  though  its  elements  were  every  place  talking, 
in  pairs  or  in  little  knots  of  people.  As  he  came  along, 
these  fell  silent  at  his  passing.  They  stared  at  him, 
motionless,  expressionless,  with  the  characteristic  Mexi- 
can stolidity  that  is  the  heritage  of  Indian  blood.  By 
his  automobile  he  found  Martinez  posted,  stroking  his 
long  black  mustache  and  regarding  Sorenson's  office, 
which  was  still  lighted  though  the  curtain  remained 
drawn  over  the  broad  plate-glass  window. 

"Just  wanted  to  give  you  a  whispered  word,"  he  said, 
in  Steele  Weir's  ear,  darting  a  glance  towards  some  of 
the  Mexicans  who,  drawn  by  insatiable  curiosity,  were 
lounging  nearer. 

"Speak,"  said  the  engineer. 

"I  came  out  of  the  office  after  you  did  and  heard  the 
talk."  He  made  a  covert  movement  of  forefinger 
towards  the  nearby  building.  "The  four  of  them  are  in 
there  again.  I  saw  you  listening  to  Sorenson  here  in  the 
street ;  and  would  you  care  to  have  me  express  my  opin- 
ion as  to  what  the  signs  indicate,  Mr.  Weir?" 

"Go  ahead." 

"In  the  light  of  what  I  suggested  during  our  talk  in 
my  office,  the  silly  twaddle  of  Burkhardt  and  Sorenson 
is  understandable.  I  look  right  through  their  scheme. 


78     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

They  always  frame  up  something  against  anybody  they 
want  to  dispose  of;  they  do  it  in  business  matters  regu- 
larly, and  very  skillfully.  They  immediately  perceived 
a  chance,  sir,  in  this  unfortunate  encounter  of  yours 
and  laid  hands  on  it;  their  talk  was  the  first  delicate 
maneuver  to  'frame'  you.*' 

"Sure,"  was  the  unperturbed  answer. 

Martinez  laid  a  finger  on  Weir's  lapel. 

"Frankly,  feeling  hasn't  been  good  towards  you  be- 
cause of  the  work  controversy  at  the  dam,"  he  went  on, 
with  another  swift  glance  about.  "They  will  use  that. 
On  the  other  hand,  you  have  Miss  Janet  and  me  as  wit- 
nesses in  support  of  your  story.  Unfortunately  Miss 

Janet  is,  as  you  may  not  be  aware,  engaged  to " 

Martinez  paused  dramatically. 

"Well?" 

"To  Ed  Sorenson,"  the  lawyer  half-hissed.  "Nothing 
could  be  worse." 

"Why?" 

"Why?  Look  at  the  position  she'll  be  in.  Consider  the 
pressure  they  can  put  on  her  through  that  fact — and 
they'll  not  hesitate  to  do  so,  in  one  way  or  another. 
Innocent  as  a  dove,  she  is,  Mr.  Weir."  He  thrust  his 
head  forward,  showing  his  lips  drawn  apart  and  shining 
teeth  tight  set.  "And  she's  never  heard  a  rumor  of  his 
hushed-up  affairs  with  poor,  ignorant,  Mexican  girls 
who  knew  no  better." 

"We'll  simply  have  to  trust  to  her  courage  to  tell  the 
truth  on  the  proper  occasion." 

"Ah,  but  they'll  trick  her  some  way." 

"And  you?" 

Martinez  straightened,  smiled,  twirled  his  mustache. 

"I?  They  aren't  quite  foxy  enough  for  that,  Mr. 
Weir,"  he  boasted,  with  glistening  eyes. 


IN  THE  COIL  79 

The  engineer  was  almost  ready  to  believe  that,  but 
cunning  was  not  the  only  weapon  in  his  enemies'  arse- 
nal. How  would  this  lean  lawyer  stand  up  under  intimi- 
dation, bribes,  threats? 

"I  trust  so,  Martinez,"  said  he.  "Do  you  think  they 
will  try  to  get  me  sometime  by  an  out-and-out  gun- 
play?" 

"No,  no,  no." 

"Do  you  think  they  could  if  they  tried?"  Weir  in- 
quired, grimly. 

The  attorney  paused  with  finger  and  thumb  on  the 
point  of  his  mustache,  lifted  his  eyebrows  and  smiled 
broadly. 

"They'll  consider  twice  before  they  attempt  it,  after 
your  expert  exhibition  this  evening,"  said  he.  "It  was 
amazing,  your  speed,  your  accuracy." 

Steele  tapped  the  man  on  the  breast,  who  experienced 
a  distinct  tremor  at  that  significant  touch  and  at  the 
veiled  menace  in  the  dam  manager's  eyes. 

"There's  always  one  bullet  in  my  gun  for  the  man 
who  betrays  me,  Martinez." 

The  lawyer  licked  his  lips.  On  general  principles  he 
disliked  statements  that  committed  one  to  the  future. 
But  it  was  necessary  to  say  something. 

"To  be  sure.  I  should  feel  the  same  in  your  circum- 
stances," he  responded.  Then  as  Weir  turned  to  his 
car,  he  continued:  "The  inquest  to-morrow  morning 
should  be  over  early.  I'll  visit  you  in  the  afternoon  as 
planned." 

"Don't  forget  that  letter,"  Weir  called  out. 

Martinez  marveled.  Kill  a  man,  and  still  remember  a 
letter !  That  magnified  his  respect  immensely.  Cool, 
that  fellow!  Then  a  slight  shiver  as  if  a  chill  from 
those  black  peaks  west  of  the  town  had  struck  through 


80     IX  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

his  flesh  rippled  along  his  spine;  for  he  had  been  over 
at  the  jail  with  the  crowd  and  had  viewed  that  dead 
body  lying  there  on  the  stone  floor.  Not  only  cool,  but 
dangerous  and  deadly,  this  engineer.  He,  Martinez, 
must  be  discreet ;  it  would  not  do  to  risk  gaining  Weir's 
enmity.  That  cold-faced  man  could  not  be  "monkeyed 
with." 

Martinez  gnawed  his  mustache  and  eyed  the  dully  il- 
luminated office  window.  He  wondered  if  those  four  men 
inside  had  not  at  last  found  their  match,  perhaps  their 
master.  Any  one  with  half  a  brain  could  see  there  was 
going  to  be  a  desperate  struggle  between  the  four  and 
the  one,  and  he  was  not  exactly  sure  yet  that  he  wanted 
to  venture  farther  into  the  affair.  But  the  very  danger 
fascinated  him  with  its  subtle  and  obscure  features,  ex- 
actly suited  to  his  manipulation. 

A  man  who  had  been  standing  apart  sauntered  nearer. 

"Senor,"  he  addressed  the  lawyer  in  Spanish. 

Martinez  whirled  about. 

"Ah,  it's  only  you,  Naharo." 

"He  is  a  bad  fighter,  eh?"  And  the  man,  almost  white 
because  of  intermixed  blood,  moved  a  hand  in  the  di- 
rection Weir's  car  had  gone. 

"Perhaps  not  bad.  Quick  with  a  gun,  however,"  was 
the  careful  reply. 

"With  his  fists  also.  I  saw,  or  if  I  did  not  see,  I  very 
nearly  did  so — it  is  the  same — saw  him  use  them  in  Bow- 
enville.  And  on  that  dog  of  an  Ed  Sorenson  who  would 
have  seduced  my  little  Dolorosa,  as  he  did  Cristobal's 
daughter,  if  I  had  not  perceived  what  he  was  at." 

The  lawyer's  ears  were  instantly  pricked  up.  He 
caught  the  man  by  the  shirt-sleeve. 

"Come  with  me,"  he  said. 

Once  they  were  in  his  office  he  carefully  closed  and 


IN  THE  COIL  81 

locked  the  door,  drawing  the  window  shades.  Literally 
he  rubbed  his  hands  one  over  the  other  as  he  bade 
Naharo  take  a  chair.  Then  the  pair  of  them  rolled  and 
lighted  cigarettes. 

"Perhaps  I  should  say  no  more,  Senor  Martinez." 

"It  will  go  no  farther.  And  if  the  engineer  and  Ed 
Sorenson  had  a  fight,  then  it  must  have  been  for  that 
reason  the  latter's  father  spoke  as  he  did  to-night.  You 
heard  him." 

"Yes.  And  I  did  not  understand  why.  It  was  not  be- 
cause of  what  happened  at  Bowenville,  unquestionably 
not,  for  it  had  to  do  with  another  girl " 

"Ha,  a  girl!    And  the  engineer  mixed  in  it?" 

"Listen.  As  I  say,  he  would  not  have  told  his  father, 
because  he  keeps  such  things  quiet ;  it  is  four  years  since 
he  last  had  to  pay  money  to  settle  a  matter.  Some 
think  he  now  behaves,  but  it  is  not  true.  But  he  is  more 
careful.  So  his  father  did  not  know  about  this." 

"Tell  it  all,  Naharo." 

The  other  inhaled  a  puff  of  smoke  and  half-closed  his 
eyes.  Though  nearly  white,  he  retained  the  Mexican's 
high  cheek  bones,  and  languor,  and  unforgiving  nature. 

"I  was  in  Bowenville,  freighting  up  flour  to  the  store 
of  Smith's.  I  had  loaded  by  evening,  to  make  an  early 
start  next  day.  I  had  gone  into  the  restaurant  for 
supper,  taking  a  seat  far  down  at  the  end  of  the  counter 
near  the  kitchen.  I  was  tired  and  thinking  only  of  my 
food.  As  I  ate,  there  was  a  crash  in  one  of  the  stalls 
and  I  looked  about.  There  was  a  fight,  of  course.  But 
it  ended  at  once.  Then  I  observed  Ed  Sorenson  come 
out  presently,  jerking  his  collar  and  tie  straight.  He 
was  mad.  He  had  been  whipped,  too.  For  he  yet  looked 
as  if  he  wanted  to  kill  the  other  man  in  there,  but  he 
went  away.  Soon  the  other  man  came  out  and  with  him 


82     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

was  a  young  white  girl,  whom  I  did  not  know.  The 
man  was  this  engineer  and  he  carried  an  old  piece  of 
baggage,  not  such  as  he  would  carry  but  as  the  girl 
might,  for  she  looked  like  a  ranch  girl  who  was  poor. 
The  girl  was  scared.  The  man  was  calm  as  a  priest. 
That  scoundrel  Ed  Sorenson  had  been  beaten.  Aha, 
so ;  it  was  clear.  The  engineer  had  put  a  spoke  in  the 
fellow's  wheel.  Then  I  walked  to  the  door  and  saw  the 
two  get  into  a  car  and  start  on  the  trail  this  way.  After 
that,  I  resumed  my  supper.  You  perceive,  the  man  had 
taken  the  girl  away  from  the  wolf." 

Martinez'  restless  eyes  wandered  about  the  room  as 
he  digested  this  account. 

"Did  you  see  the  dead  man?"  he  inquired,  casually. 

"Yes,  senor." 

Their  looks  met,  held  for  an  instant,  dropped.  Each 
read  the  thought  of  the  other:  the  motive  for  the  at- 
tack on  the  engineer  was  clear.  But  some  convictions 
are  better  not  expressed. 

"I  should  have  liked  to  see  Senor  Weir  do  the  shoot- 
ing," Naharo  stated.  "Dios,  such  shooting!  Two 
shots,  two  hits.  And  in  the  dark !" 

Martinez*  grinned. 

"It  will  not  please — whoever  hired  the  dead  man.  He 
was  hired  for  the  job,  of  course." 

"Unquestionably,  senor,"  was  the  reply. 


CHAPTER  VIH 

THE  GATHERING  STOBM 

AT  the  inquest  next  morning  no  outward  sign  indi- 
cated what  Weir's  enemies  might  be  at.  Indeed,  none 
of  them  was  present.  The  engineer  made  a  statement; 
the  two  witnesses,  Janet  Hosmer  and  Felipe  Martinez, 
were  briefly  interrogated,  and  the  finding  was  returned 
that  the  unknown  Mexican  had  met  death  from  two 
bullet  wounds  while  attempting  to  kill  Steele  Weir. 

One  spectator  there  was  who  took  a  strong  interest 
in  proceedings,  Ed  Sorenson.  When,  however,  Janet 
Hosmer  was  notified  by  her  father,  who  was  in  charge, 
that  she  could  withdraw,  the  young  fellow  hastened  to 
lead  her  away,  with  an  audible  remark  that  it  was  a 
shame  she  had  had  to  be  "dragged  into  this  disreputable 
gun-man's  bloody  show."  Meaning  Steele  Weir,  natu- 
rally. 

That  feeling  was  being  intensified  against  him  was 
only  too  apparent  in  the  hostile  manner  of  the  crowd 
and  in  the  silence  with  which  it  received  the  finding. 
There  was  his  former  unpopularity,  to  begin  with ;  there 
was  now  added  a  race  resentment,  for  the  slain  man, 
stranger  though  he  was,  was  Mexican;  and  finally,  he 
knew  not  what  distilled  poison  of  lies  concerning  his 
innocence  in  the  night  fray.  Nothing  more  was  needed 
to  reveal  the  swelling  hate  which  secret  fear  of  Weir 
but  increased  than  a  volley  of  curses  and  abuse  hurled 

83 


84,     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

at  his  head  from  a  native  saloon  doorway  as  he  passed 
in  his  car  on  his  way  home. 

During1  the  following  week  the  engineer  was  too  oc- 
cupied with  dam  work  to  have  time  for  other  matters. 
He  pushed  the  concrete  construction  and  inspired  his 
men  with  something  of  his  own  indomitable  spirit,  who 
had  learned  of  the  cowardly  attack  in  San  Mateo  and 
rallied  to  his  standard  with  a  zeal  and  ardor  for  which 
the  fact  of  employment  alone  did  not  account.  He  had 
become  a  leader  as  well  as  their  "boss."  From  Meyers 
down  to  the  humblest  workman  the  camp  had  for  him  a 
new  admiration,  a  new  respect  and  a  new  loyalty,  which 
he  could  not  help  but  feel;  he  had  proved  that  he  could 
deliver  the  "goods";  and  if  the  Mexicans  wanted  war, 
the  Americans  here  would  be  glad  to  oblige  them.  Nor 
did  they  wait  to  let  San  Mateo  know  the  fact. 

"We're  wid  'Cold  Steel'  Weir,  our  boss,  four  hundred 
of  us,  till  ye  can  skate  on  hell,"  a  huge  Irishman,  one  of 
half  a  dozen  standing  at  Verse's  bar  on  Saturday  night, 
remarked  when  the  saloon-man  uttered  a  sneer  at  the 
manager.  "Say  that  agin  and  we'll  tear  your  rotten 
booze  joint  to  pieces  and  make  ye  eat  it!  And  if  an- 
other stinkin'  greaser  tries  to  wing  him  from  the  dark, 
we'll  come  down  here  and  wipe  your  dirty  little  town  off 
the  map!  That  goes  both  ways  from  the  jack!"  He 
snapped  his  fingers  under  the  other's  nose  by  way  of 
added  insult. 

A  petty  series  of  hostile  acts  against  the  company 
developed.  Teamsters  were  stoned  by  boys,  which  left 
them  raging  and  murderous  to  discover  the  men  who 
set  them  on.  Half  a  carload  of  cement  in  sacks  was 
ripped  open  and  emptied  on  the  earth  at  Bowenville. 
After  Meyers,  Weir's  assistant,  found  his  automobile 
tires  slashed  to  bits  on  coming  out  of  the  post-office  in 


THE  GATHERING  STORM         85 

San  Mateo,  it  became  necessary  always  to  go  in  pairs, 
one  man  to  remain  on  watch.  Weir  himself  just  avoided 
a  serious  accident  one  evening  at  dusk  while  a  mile  from 
the  dam  when  he  instinctively  ducked  in  his  car  as  some- 
thing grazed  the  top  of  his  wind-shield.  A  wire  had  been 
stretched  across  the  road  from  a  telephone  pole  to  a 
tree,  at  just  the  height  to  strike  him  at  the  throat. 

He  halted  and  removed  the  deadly  contrivance.  Men 
on  watch  of  his  movements  could  have  prepared  it 
against  his  return;  and,  indeed,  he  thought  he  detected 
a  pair  of  flitting  shadows  behind  a  row  of  willow  bushes 
lining  a  Mexican  irrigation  ditch,  but  in  the  dusk  he 
could  not  be  sure.  On  running  thither,  he  found  no 
one. 

The  camp  was  not  of  a  temper,  however,  to  allow  the 
attacks  to  be  all  on  one  side.  Atkinson,  the  superin- 
tendent, came  to  Weir  one  morning  towards  the  end  of 
the  week  and  informed  him  workmen  were  drifting  down 
to  San  Mateo  nightly  in  hope  of  trouble. 

"They'll  get  a  knife  put  into  them,"  Steele  Weir  re- 
plied, with  a  frown  that  did  not  entirely  hide  his  satis- 
faction at  this  evidence  of  support. 

"Maybe;  and  again  maybe  not,"  the  superintendent 
stated,  grinning.  "A  bunch  jumped  some  of  our  boys 
last  night  and  I  guess  when  the  dust  settled  there  wertf 
a  couple  of  Mexicans  beaten  nearly  to  death." 

"Call  the  men  all  together  this  noon,"  Weir  ordered. 

At  that  hour  he  gave  them  a  talk  for  what  he  called 
their  long-eared  cussedness,  and  laid  down  a  little  law 
and  wound  up  with  a  number  of  reasonable  explanations 
for  the  same.  Every  man  who  went  out  hunting  trouble 
was  a  camp  liability,  and  would  be  fired.  He  did  not 
propose  to  give  the  town  authorities  a  chance  to  jail 
workmen  and  impair  the  dam  work,  just  the  thing  they 


86     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

were  waiting  to  do.  The  men  should  keep  away  from 
San  Mateo,  or  at  least  avoid  disputes  and  rows.  If  they 
spent  no  money  there  whatever  it  would  sting  the  town 
where  it  would  hurt  the  most,  in  its  pocket-book;  and 
he  himself  was  transferring  the  company  bank  account 
to  Bowenville,  by  way  of  example.  If  any  man  felt 
the  need  of  change  from  camp,  he  could  have  two  days 
off  at  the  end  of  the  month  to  spend  at  Bowenville.  But 
keep  away  from  the  Mexicans  ! 

"And  if  they  come  up  here  huntin*  us  when  we  show 
up  no  more?"  yelled  the  same  big  Irishman  who  had 
paid  his  respects  to  Vorse. 

"In  that  case,  tear  their  heads  off,"  was  the  reply. 
"But  put  on  your  gloves  first  or  you'll  dirty  your 
fingers."  Which  bit  of  rough  humor  caught  the  crowd's 
fancy  and  won  a  roar  of  laughter. 

Later  as  the  crowd  dispersed  to  eat  Atkinson  said  to 
Meyers,  "The  boss  knows  how  to  handle  men  all  right, 
all  right;  he  put  sugar  on  the  pill.  The  gang  went  off 
grinning.  They  know  they've  got  to  be  good — but  only 
up  to  a  limit." 

Meantime  Felipe  Martinez  had  not  been  idle.  He 
rode  up  to  engineering  headquarters  on  his  pony  one 
evening  and  carried  Weir  out  into  the  open  where  their 
words  would  not  be  overheard.  He  reported  that  he 
was  quietly  working  for  information  of  Weir's  father 
among  the  older  Mexicans  who  would  be  likely  to  re- 
member him,  but  proceeding  cautiously  so  that  no  one 
would  suspect  his  purpose.  He  represented  himself  to 
them  as  undertaking  to  write  a  history  of  San  Mateo 
County;  he  must  depend  upon  them  for  data  of  early 
days ;  it  would  be  a  fine  book  bound  in  leather,  in  which 
their  names  and  possibly  their  pictures  would  appear; 
—which  never  failed  to  flatter  the  parties  with  whom 


THE  GATHERING  STORM          87 

he  talked.  And  the  lawyer  laughed  with  amusement 
as  he  related  the  success  of  his  method. 

"I  have  already  seen  some  thirty  or  forty  people, 
a  few  of  whom  recalled  your  father,  but  no  more.  But 
this  afternoon,"  he  continued,  "I  discovered  a  woman 
who  worked  at  the  Weir  ranch  house."  Martinez  per- 
ceived the  engineer's  attention  quicken.  "She  said  the 
Weirs  had  a  little  boy  of  four  years  of  age,  perhaps 
five.  You,  Mr.  Weir,  of  course.  They  suddenly  paid 
and  discharged  her  one  day,  packed  a  trunk  and  drove 
hurriedly  off;  and  the  next  morning  Sorenson  took 
possession  of  the  ranch  and  she  went  home.  They 
drove  off  in  a  great  haste — there  was  no  railroad  any- 
where near  here  then — and  that  was  the  last  she  ever 
saw  or  heard  of  them." 

"Yes." 

"One  thing  more  there  was:  she  said  there  was  a 
story  that  went  around  for  awhile  afterwards  that 
Weir  and  another  had  lost  their  ranches  and  cattle 
gambling.  For  that  reason  Weir  left  the  country; 
and  for  that  reason,  too,  the  other  man,  Dent,  by  name, 
committed  suicide  in  Vorse's  saloon  where  they  had 
gambled.  She  said  Saurez,  an  old  man  living  with  his 
son  up  a  little  creek,  would  know  about  that,  for  he  used 
to  clean  out  Vorse's  bar-room  in  those  days." 

Steele  Weir  grasped  Martinez's  shoulder  in  a  quick 
grip. 

"He  did!  Get  everything  he  knows  out  of  him," 
he  commanded. 

"Leave  it  to  me,  Mr.  Weir.  I  understand  how  to 
wheedle  facts  out  of  these  old  fellows." 

But  it  was  doubtful  if  the  engineer  heard  his  words. 
He  had  dropped  his  hand,  stood  opening  and  shutting 


88     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

his  fingers,  while  on  his  face  grew  the  hard  implacable 
look  that  always  whetted  the  attorney's  curiosity. 

Weir  walked  up  on  the  hillside  when  Martinez  had 
ridden  away  and  there  sat  down  on  a  rock.  It  was  a 
rift,  though  but  a  faint  rift,  that  this  news  made  in  the 
blank  dark  wall  he  had  to  confront ;  and  he  wished  to 
think.  Proof  as  well  as  knowledge  of  what  had  hap- 
pened in  his  father's  case  was  what  he  must  have.  Act- 
ing on  intuition  he  had  been  able  to  put  fear  into  the 
hearts  of  the  four  men  responsible  for  making  his  fa- 
ther's life  a  hell,  but  proof  of  their  guilt  was  necessary 
to  make  them  suffer  in  a  similar  fashion,  to  reveal  their 
crime  to  the  world,  to  destroy  them.  Now  at  last,  here 
was  a  possibility.  If  this  former  roustabout  of  the 
saloon  knew  anything! 

Well,  he  must  be  patient — the  mill  of  the  gods  grinds 
slowly.  But  when  finally  he  had  gained  all  the  strands 
and  woven  the  net !  Unconsciously  his  hands  arose  be- 
fore his  face  like  talons  closing  on  prey  and  shut  on  air, 
until  their  veins  swelled.  That  was  how  he  would  serve 
them,  those  men.  Though  they  might  fall  on  their 
knees  and  implore  mercy,  not  one  beat  of  pity  should 
move  his  heart. 

It  was  almost  dark  when  he  arose.  Behind  him  the 
great  peaks  soared  against  the  last  greenish  twilight. 
In  the  shacks  the  camp  lamps  were  showing  at  windows. 
At  one  side  and  in  the  canyon  the  concrete  core  of  the 
dam  appeared  white  in  the  gloom,  like  a  bank  of  snow. 
The  murmur  of  voices,  an  occasional  distant  laugh, 
came  from  men's  quarters. 

Presently  he  slanted  down  the  hillside  past  the  camp, 
until  he  struck  into  a  road  leading  towards  town,  where 
he  began  to  walk  forward,  hatless  and  without  coat, 
through  the  soft  dusk.  He  was  disinclined  for  work  as 


THE  GATHERING  STORM          89 

yet,  the  work  always  piled  on  his  desk ;  he  desired  yet 
for  a  little  to  rest  his  spirit  in  the  evening  calm. 

His  thoughts  had  softened  and  turned  to  Janet  Hos- 
mer.  He  had  not  seen  her  since  the  morning  at  the 
court  house.  He  had  not  spoken  with  her  since  that 
interview  upon  her  veranda,  which  had  terminated 
with  his  shocked  utterance.  That  he  had  thus  given 
away  to  his  feeling  he  had  a  hundred  times  repented; 
and  that  he  had  so  bruskly  departed  he  was  profoundly 
chagrined.  But  what  could  he  have  done?  No  ex- 
planation was  possible.  The  situation  in  which  he  had 
been  allowed  of  but  one  thing,  escape. 

With  the  rising  tide  of  emotion  reflected  by  memory 
of  that  moment  his  steps  had  quickened.  All  at  once 
he  discovered  before  him  the  rippling  sheen  of  water. 
He  was  at  Chico  Creek,  a  mile  from  camp,  where  he  first 
had  met  Janet  Hosmer.  Engaged  with  his  tangled  prob- 
lem, he  had  been  unaware  of  the  distance  covered. 

Pausing  but  an  instant  he  waded  through,  smiling  to 
himself  at  thought  of  that  afternoon's  spirited  encoun- 
ter with  the  girl.  She  had  not  dreamed  then,  nor  he, 
that  events  would  fling  them  together  in  a  more  dra- 
matic second  meeting  at  Martinez'  door. 

Suddenly  he  perceived  a  white-clad  figure  before  him, 
standing  motionless,  leaning  forward  to  peer  his  way 
as  he  walked  forth  from  the  ford. 

"It's  you,  Mr.  Weir?"  came  in  soft  inquiry. 

"Yes.  How  in  the  world  do  you  happen  to  be  here, 
Janet  Hosmer?" 

She  laughed. 

"I  thought  I  recognized  you  marching  through  the 
stream,  so  I  wasn't  alarmed." 

*No  one  would  think  of  harming  you,  Fm  sure." 


90     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

"But  anyway  I  should  have  vanished  if  you  had  been 
a  stranger." 

"Not  being  one,  you  remained.  I  had  no  idea  of 
such  luck  as  this  when  I  set  out  for  a  walk." 

Both  pleasure  and  satisfaction  sounded  in  his  voice. 

"I  was  just  taking  a  little  stroll  myself,"  said  she- 


CHAPTER  IX 

AN   UNEXPECTED    AIXY 

"LET  me  take  the  chance  first  thing  to  apologize  for 
my  behavior  the  night  we  talked  on  your  porch,'*  Steele 
Weir  exclaimed.  "Your  statement  of  being  engaged 
surprised  me  into  words  and  conduct  that  has  had  me 
in  an  unhappy  state  of  mind  ever  since.  Mr.  Soren- 
son's  talk  to  the  crowd  stirred  my  anger.  Had  I  known 
your  exact  relationship  to  him  and  his  son,  I  should 
have  made  no  mistakes." 

"I  had  urged  you  to  speak,  had  I  not?" 
"Grant  that.  But  I  don't  stand  excused." 
"There  was  no  questioning  the  sincerity  of  your 
last  expression  that  night,  in  any  case,"  she  said. 
"But  I've  not  been  indignant  because  of  what  you  ex- 
claimed or  because  you  hate  the  Sorensons.  'Hate* 
isn't  too  strong  a  word,  is  it  ?  I'm  none  the  less  inter- 
ested however  to  know  what  it's  all  about.  You  see 
I  don't  take  any  stock  in  the  reasons  commonly  given: 
that  you're  a  'bad  man,'  an  agent  of  a  rich  corpora- 
tion trying  to  put  our  people  out  of  business,  a  public 
menace  and  all  the  rest." 

"Is  that  what  they  say  ?"  Weir  asked,  with  a  laugh. 
"Part  of  it.  Nor  does  it  fool  father,  for  he  said 
only  yesterday  that  there's  something  more  at  bottom 
of  the  feeling  against  you  than  merely  a  fight  of  mon- 
eyed interests.  He  knows  from  what  I  told  him  that 
that  dead  man  tried  to  murder  you;  yet  he  hears  con- 

91 


92     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

stant  talk  of  your  'crime,*  of  evidence  being  gathered 
against  you  by  the  county  attorney,  Mr.  Lucerio,  and 
of  the  penalty  you  shall  pay.  All  absurd,  to  be  sure." 

"Mr.  Martinez  tells  me  the  same,"  Steele  responded. 
"But  he  says  also  that  all  the  people  do  not  believe  the 
stories." 

"That's  true."  And  she  appeared  to  reflect  upon 
the  circumstance. 

To  Weir  nothing  could  be  stranger  than  this  talk 
on  the  dark  road  with  the  girl  who,  too,  should  be  natu- 
rally opposed  to  him.  In  fact,  here  at  this  very  spot 
and  at  their  first  meeting  she  had  announced  herself  as 
a  critic  and  an  enemy.  He  could  smile  over  that  now ; 
she  herself  probably  did  smile  at  the  recollection.  Yet 
she  was  calmly  discussing  his  situation  without  animus 
or  even  unfriendliness. 

How  could  that  be  possible  if  she  actually  loved 
the  man  whom  she  expected  to  marry,  Ed  Sorenson? 
Why  did  she  not  at  once  spring  to  arms  in  defense 
of  the  Sorenson  side?  Unless — unless  she  suspected 
the  baseness  of  her  lover  and  his  father,  and  fear  had 
replaced  love. 

All  at  once  she  spoke. 

"They  will  put  you  in  jail  if  they  can,  and  bring 
you  to  trial,  and — and " 

"And  hang  me,  that's  what  you  hesitate  to  say," 
Steele  finished  for  her.  ''Whom  do  you  mean  by 
'they'?" 

"The  people." 

"Are  the  people  here  in  this  county  really  'they'? 
Do  the  people,  that  is,  the  mass  of  poor  ignorant  Mex- 
icans, have  anything  to  do  with  public  affairs?  Both 
you  and  I  know  they  do  not." 

"Why  deny  it!"  she  sighed.     "It's  generally  known 


AN  UNEXPECTED  ALLY          93 

that  four  men,  with  a  few  more  at  their  skirts,  run 
things.  They  nominate  the  men  who  are  to  fill  office 
— there's  only  one  political  party  in  the  county  worth 
mentioning — and  give  them  orders  and  expect  them  to 
obey.  For  that  reason  father  would  never  accept  an 
office.  He  could  be  coroner ;  he  could  be  county  treas- 
urer; he  could  go  to  the  legislature;  or  anything  else 
— if  he  would  but  wear  their  political  livery.  But  he 
prefers  to  be  a  free  man.  I  used  to  think  nothing  of  it, 
see  no  wrong  in  such  a  state  of  affairs,  for  everything 
went  along  well  enough  and  about  the  same  as  ever  as 
far  as  I  could  see." 

"Possibly  you  didn't  see  everything  that  was  oc- 
curring below  the  surface  even  then." 

"Exactly  what  father  told  me  yesterday.  We  talked 
about  everything  under  the  sun,  I  imagine.  And  I 
informed  him  that  you  walked  home  with  me  the  night 
of  the  shooting;  I  had  not  spoken  of  it  before." 

"That  was  proper ;  he  should  know  it." 

"He  doesn't  share  in  the  feeling  against  you,  Mr. 
Weir,  let  me  assure  you  of  that.  Ever  since  he  heard 
my  explanation  of  the  shooting  and  then  met  you  at 
the  inquest,  he's  convinced  that  you're  being  done  a 
great  injustice." 

Steele  experienced  a  warm  glow  of  pleasure. 

"I  liked  your  father  at  first  sight,"  said  he,  simply. 
"But  where  does  all  this  leave  us?"  He  spoke  in  a 
light  tone  of  amusement  that  he  was  far  from  feeling. 
"Our  position  is — odd." 

"It  is,"  she  assented  so  earnestly  that  he  began  to 
laugh. 

"You  mustn't  allow  it  to  disturb  you.  I'm  really 
presuming  upon  your  kindness  of  heart  and  innocence 
in  enjoying  your  company  now.  Acquaintance  with 


94     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

me  is  a  rather  serious  matter  here  in  San  Mateo  and 
carries  consequences.  You  don't  think  for  an  instant 
that  I'd  allow  my  personal  pleasure — and  pleasure  it 
is  to  be  with  you,  needless  to  say — to  bring  you  into 
ill-favor  among  your  friends  and  to  make  you  the  sub- 
ject of  gossip.  I  appreciate  your  good  spirit  towards 
me;  and  I  admire  you  greatly.  But  it  will  be  well  if  I 
admire  you  at  a  distance  hereafter." 

"I  don't  see  whose  business  it  is  except  mine." 

To  Steele  Weir  it  was  like  pushing  aside  the  only 
thing  that  brightened  his  hard,  toilsome  existence  thus 
to  abjure  future  companionship  with  her. 

"Good  heavens,  do  you  fancy  that  comes  easy  for 
me  to  say?"  he  exclaimed,  drawing  a  deep  breath.  "I 
never  before  knew  any  one  who — well,  I'll  stop  there." 

"Who  what?"  she  demanded. 

"I  nearly  overstepped  the  bounds." 

"Oh,  that's  it." 

What  imp  of  perversity  was  in  the  girl?  Weir 
stared  at  her  for  a  moment  through  the  gloom. 

And  then  she  remarked  that  she  must  be  returning 
home,  and  said  she  would  be  glad  if  he  would  accom- 
pany her  part  way  as  there  was  a  Mexican's  house  half 
way  to  town  where  a  particularly  vicious  dog  always 
rushed  out.  The  dog  rushed  out  exactly  as  she  had 
predicted,  barking  savagely,  so  that  she  slipped  her 
arm  into  the  engineer's  and  held  fast  until  they  were 
past. 

"He  does  that  only  after  dark ;  I  hadn't  expected  to 
walk  so  far  and  it  was  still  light  when  I  set  out,"  said 
she. 

The  touch  of  her  fingers  on  his  sleeve,  the  light 
swing  of  her  form  at  his  side,  the  subtle  fragrance  that 
emanated  from  her  hair  and  face,  this  intimate  near- 


AN  UNEXPECTED  ALLY          95 

ness  on  the  dark  road,  the  heavy  scent  of  flowers  in 
the  bordering  fields, — all  sent  the  blood  thumping  from 
his  heart.  If  he — if  he  were  in  Ed  Sorenson's  place, 
what  love  he  could  pour  out ! 

Ed  Sorenson,  the  double-faced  wretch  who  while  en- 
gaged to  her  had  attempted  to  entice  away  for  his  own 
vile  gratification  the  simple,  trustful  girl  on  Terry 
Creek,  he  was  to  marry  this  sweet  and  charming  com- 
panion. What  diabolical  tragedies  life  could  mix! 

"See,  the  moon  is  rising,"  she  said. 

Over  the  edge  of  the  mesa  the  yellow  globe  was 
bulging,  rayless  for  the  moment,  round  and  full. 

"We're  almost  at  the  edge  of  town,  and  I'll  stop 
here,"  he  replied.  "As  I  said,  I'd  not  bring  down  upon 
your  head  a  single  unpleasant  word." 

"My  head's  not  so  tender,"  she  responded  quickly. 
"But  I  think  you're  right — for  the  present."  A  tight 
little  smile  followed  the  words.  "We'll  see." 

"That's  best." 

"But  I  propose  to  stand  by  you.  I  told  you  that 
night  I  couldn't  remain  indifferent  when  I  saw  an  inno- 
cent man  persecuted." 

"You  give  me  a  tremendous  amount  of  happiness.'* 

"If  I  do,  I'm  glad.  I  don't  believe  you  ever  had 
much  of  it.  Do  you  know  what  is  said?  That  you 
never  smile.  But  I  can  swear  that  isn't  true,  and  I'm 
beginning  to  wonder  if  you  really  are — Heavens,  what 
was  I  about  to  say !" 

"Go  ahead.     It's  nothing  terrible,  I  wager." 

"Well,  I  won't  finish  that,  but  I'll  ask  a  question 
even  more  impertinent,  if  I  may.  Frankly,  I'm  dying 
of  curiosity  to  know." 

Weir  turned  his  head  to  listen  to  the  approach  of  a 
horseman.  He  could  see  the  man  galloping  towards 


them  for  town,  having  turned  into  the  road  from  a  lane 
a  short  distance  off,  his  horse's  hoofs  striking  an  occa- 
sional spark  from  a  stone.  Then  the  engineer  looked 
smilingly  at  Janet  Hosmer. 

"I'll  tell  you  anything — or  almost  anything.**  One 
subject  alone  was  sealed. 

"It's  that  name." 

"Name?" 

"  'Cold  Steel.'    How  did  you  get  it?" 

"It  was  just  pinned  on  me  a  few  years  ago.  I'm  not 
particularly  proud  of  it.  I  don't  even  know  the  rogue 
who  gave  me  the  label.  And  it  means  nothing." 

"Even  you  enemies  are  using  it, — and  I  understand 
what  it  signifies."  She  bent  her  eyes  upon  him  for  a 
time.  "That  is,  what  it  signifies  to  your  friends." 

"And  to  my  enemies?" 

"More  gossip.  They  say  it's  because  you're  a  gun- 
man and  a  knife-man.  Oh,  I  wish  I  didn't  have  to  have 
my  ears  filled  with  such  vicious  slander !  But  it  means 
the  same  to  enemies  as  to  friends  if  they  would  but 
admit  it.  I'll  wait  until  this  rider  passes,  then  I  must 
go." 

No  thought  of  friends  or  foes,  both,  or  of  any  such 
person  as  Ed  Sorenson  in  particular,  was  in  Steele's 
mind  as  he  made  answer. 

"I'd  stand  here  forever  if  you  didn't  go,"  he  said, 
with  a  low  eagerness  that  caused  her  breath  to  flutter 
in  spite  of  herself. 

On  her  part,  her  mind  was  whispering,  "He  means 
it,  I  believe  he  really  means  it."  Which  caused  her  to 
lift  and  lower  her  eyes  hurriedly,  and  feel  a  peculiar 
sense  of  trepidation  and  excitement.  Odd  to  state,  she, 
too,  just  then  had  no  recollection  of  any  such  being  as 
Ed  Sorenson,  which  was  the  extreme  of  unloverliness. 


AN  UNEXPECTED  ALLY          97 

"Before  I  do  go,  I've  something  to  tell  you,"  she 
said  hurriedly,  dropping  her  voice.  "It's  this :  the  dead 
man's  name  was" — here  her  tone  went  down  to  a  mere 
sibilance — "Pete  Ortez." 

He  leaned  forward,  once  again  the  hard  fierce  man 
she  had  seen  in  Martinez'  office  the  night  of  the  shoot- 
ing. 

"How  did  you  learn  that?" 

"It — well,  it  was  let  slip  inadvertently  in  my  pres- 
ence." 

Weir  would  not  press  her  further.  Nor  was  there 
need,  for  the  sudden  embarrassment  on  her  face  and 
indeed  the  information  itself  could  have  but  one  source, 
the  man  who  knew,  Ed  Sorenson. 

"You're  the  equal  of  a  thousand  ordinary  friends," 
he  declared.  "I  can  make  use  of  that  item.  Step  aside, 
please ;  we're  in  the  middle  of  the  road."  And  he  drew 
her  from  in  front  of  the  horseman  advancing  upon 
them. 

They  said  nothing,  but  waited  for  the  man  to  pass. 
But  he  pulled  his  mount  from  a  gallop  to  a  trot,  and 
from  a  trot  to  a  foot  pace,  and  at  last  when  squarely 
even  with  them  came  to  a  full  stop.  From  under  his 
broad  hat  brim  he  silently  considered  the  girl  in  white 
summer  dress  and  the  bare-headed  engineer. 

Then  he  began  to  shake  with  laughter,  which  lasted 
but  an  instant.  So  insulting,  so  sinister  was  that 
noiseless  laugh  that  Janet's  hand  had  flown  to  Weir's 
arm,  which  she  nervously  clutched.  As  for  Weir,  his 
limbs  stiffened — she  felt  the  tightening  of  the  arm  she 
grasped — as  a  tiger's  body  grows  taut  preparatory  to 
a  spring. 

The  short,  fleshy,  insolent  rider  sitting  there  in  the 
moonlight  was  Burkhardt. 


98     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Ed  Sorenson  better  keep  an  eye  on  his  little  turtle- 
dove," he  remarked.  And  touching  heel  to  his  animal 
he  swung  ahead  for  town. 

For  one  dazed  minute  they  stared  after  him. 

"Shoot  him !"  she  suddenly  said,  through  shut  teeth. 

"I  haven't  my  gun  along,  or  I'd  be  glad  to  oblige 
you." 

"He  deserves  killing,  the  wretch !" 

"On  more  accounts  than  one,"  he  replied,  quietly. 

So  quietly  and  so  gravely,  in  truth,  that  her  gust  of 
rage  subsided  before  the  low-spoken  menace  of  the 
words.  No  quick  anger  was  his  but  a  steady  and 
deadly  purpose.  Again  she  felt  the  hard-held  force, 
the  mystery  of  the  man,  as  if  flowing  suddenly  upward 
from  subterranean  channels.  What  wrong  had  he 
suffered,  what  undeserved  torture  at  the  hands  of  this 
man  and  others  thus  to  freeze  his  soul  ? 

But  he  immediately  turned  to  her,  asking,  "Does  that 
upset  the  broth?" 

A  wan  smile  greeted  his  words. 

"I  expect  it  will  keep  the  cook  busy,  anyway,"  she 
said, 


CHAPTER  X 

BY  BIGHT  OF  POSSESSION 

JANET  HOSMER  made  no  effort  to  guess  what  her 
fiance  would  say  when  next  he  called,  or  to  prepare  a 
defense  of  explanations  and  excuses.  She  was  not  that 
kind.  What  was  necessary  to  be  stated  at  the  proper 
time  would  arise  to  her  lips.  Nevertheless  she  had  a 
heaviness  of  heart,  a  natural  distress  as  to  the  unpleas- 
antness in  prospect;  and  had  only  the  slightest  hope 
that  Ed  would  ignore  or  refuse  to  hear  Burkhardt'a 
story.  The  man  would  tell  her  lover,  of  that  she  might 
rest  assured,  out  of  hatred  for  the  engineer  if  for  no 
other  reason. 

She  knew  how  passionately  Ed  was  set  against  Steele 
Weir,  for  a  score  of  times  she  had  heard  his  incensed 
opinions,  increasing  lately  to  tirades.  It  had  seemed 
strange  at  first  that  one  could  be  so  bitter  over  a  sim- 
ple difference  like  that  of  who  should  work  at  the  dam. 
But  ever  since  Weir  had  uttered  his  hoarse  exclama- 
tion regarding  her  engagement,  words  so  full  of  pro- 
test and  amazed  indignation,  she  was  aware  the  cause 
went  deeper. 

At  that  moved  ejaculation  of  her  companion  that 
night  something,  too,  had  settled  on  her  heart  like  a 
weight — an  indefinable  foreboding.  The  anxiety 
aroused  about  Ed's  father  and  his  integrity  came  to 
include  Ed  likewise.  Loyalty  of  course  required  that 

99 


100  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

she  accept  the  man  she  had  promised  to  marry,  with- 
out reservations.  As  between  him  and  others  there 
should  be  but  one  choice.  But  did  she  really  know 
him?  Was  he  simply  the  open,  jolly,  generous,  upright 
adoring  fellow  he  appeared?  Or  were  there  less  pleas- 
ant, more  ignoble  sides  to  his  character?  Was  he,  as 
well  as  his  father,  capable  of  a  mean,  unworthy,  selfish 
persecution  of  another? 

The  engineer  had  made  no  open  accusation  against 
him — or  against  any  one,  for  that  matter.  She  had 
done  her  best  to  get  him  to  express  himself,  but  he  had 
refused.  Enemies  he  might  have,  but  he  would  not  dis- 
cuss the  fact  beyond  admitting  it  was  true.  Only  at 
moments  when  his  restraint  slipped  could  she  measure 
his  feelings.  Quite  different  that  from  Ed  Sorenson's 
voluble,  heated  denunciations  of  the  other.  Yet, 
heavens,  how  appalled  this  reserved  man  had  been  at 
hearing  of  her  engagement !  Far  more  than  words,  far 
more  than  any  open  charge,  did  his  face  and  incredu- 
lity, both  so  patently  sincere,  bespeak  the  mistake  she 
was  making  and  justify  gnawing  doubts  of  her  lover. 

As  she  approached  her  home  Ed  Sorenson  came 
dashing  out  to  spring  into  his  runabout  waiting  before 
the  gate.  At  sight  of  her  he  pulled  up  short. 

"Ah,  here  you  are,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  here  I  am,"  was  her  reply. 

"You  doubtless  know  what  I've  been  told,"  he  stated, 
significantly. 

"No,  I  don't.     I  can  only  suspect." 

"Is  it  true  you've  been  meeting  this  man  Weir  on 
the  quiet?  Meeting  him  while  engaged  to  me?  You 
know  what  I  think  of  him,  and  what  every  other  re- 
spectable person  thinks  of  him." 

"Was  that  Mr.  Burkhardt's  report?     That  I  am 


BY  RIGHT  OF  POSSESSION     101 

meeting  Mr.  Weir  on  the  quiet,  to  use  your  words?" 
she  countered. 

Sorenson  made  an  angry  gesture  at  what  he  consid- 
ered an  evasion. 

"Janet,  listen.  He  said  he  saw  you  at  the  edge  of 
town,  that  you  were  both  bare-headed,  standing  close 
together,  arms  locked.  Good  heavens,  can't  you  imag- 
ine my  feelings  on  hearing  what  he  had  to  say!  He 
stopped  me  on  the  street  and  drew  me  aside  to  put  me 
on  my  guard,  he  said.  Burkhardt  wouldn't  just  make 
up  a  yarn  like  that  against  you,  and  he's  a  good  friend 
of  mine.  He  didn't  say  half  what  he  suggested." 

The  girl  turned  her  face  towards  the  house,  shut  her 
eyes  for  an  instant.  She  could  picture  the  rider's 
brutal  leering  face  and  unspoken  insinuations;  and 
her  brain  also  placed  in  the  scene  her  lover  greedily  if 
angrily  drinking  in  the  tale.  Harkening  to  it  instead 
of  knocking  the  man  down,  that  was  the  worst  of  it. 
Harkening — and  believing. 

"I'll  not  deign  to  resent  your  remark  of  meeting  Mr. 
Weir  'on  the  quiet',"  said  she,  quietly.  "I  met  him  on 
the  road  accidentally." 

"Don't  you  think  I'm  entitled  to  know  something 
about  it?"  he  asked,  with  an  edged  tone. 

"What  is  it  you  desire  to  know?" 

Nearly  an  oath  of  wrath  escaped  his  mouth,  but  he 
kept  his  control. 

"Janet,  you  know  what  kind  of  a  man  he  is,"  he 
said.  "You  know  what  I  feel  against  him,  and  father, 
and  all  our  friends,  and  the  town.  And  the  whole  town, 
too,  will  probably  hear  of  this,  with  a  lot  of  gossip 
added  that  isn't  true." 

"But  I  met  him  accidentally." 


102  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

"You  didn't  have  to  chat  with  him  like  an  old 
friend." 

Janet  Hosmer  gave  him  a  slow,  meditative  look. 

"How  do  you  know  how  I  talked  with  him?" 

"You  talked  with  him.    That  in  itself  was  too  much." 

"I  don't  view  it  in  that  light,"  she  responded.  "He 
was  perfectly  civil.  Whatever  public  opinion  may  be 
regarding  the  shooting,  I  know  he  killed  the  man  in  self- 
defence.  So  that's  nothing  against  him.  You  would 
have  done  the  same  in  his  place." 

Ed  Sorenson  leaned  towards  her. 

"You  were  mistaken,  Janet.  I've  said  before  that  I 
feared  you  were,  but  the  prosecuting  attorney  has  wit- 
nesses to  the  gun-play  that  he's  dug  up.  Martinez  saw 
nothing;  how  could  he  from  inside  the  office?  And 
remember  that  you're  only  a  girl,  Janet;  in  the  dark- 
ness and  with  the  excitement  you  were  confused.  I 
haven't  a  doubt  this  scoundrel  Weir  made  you  believe 
you  saw  what  never  occurred,  when  you  appeared  in 
Martinez'  office.  When  you've  thought  it  over,  you'll 
realize  that  yourself.  These  new  witnesses  tell  just 
the  reverse  of  what  you  fancied  happened.  I'm  going 
to  see  that  you're  away  from  San  Mateo  when  the 
man's  tried,  as  he  will  be." 

No  reply  coming  from  her,  he  continued : 

"He  deceived  you  then  and  he'll  endeavor  to  poison 
your  mind  right  along.  You're  too  trustful.  Now,  I 
was  angry  at  first,  but  if  there  was  anything  in  this 
meeting  to-night  that  was  out  of  the  way,  it  was  his 
doing,  I  know.  If  he  got  familiar  with  you,  as  Burk- 
hardt  hinted " 

"Well?" 

"I'll  kill  the  dog  with  my  own  hands !" 


BY  RIGHT  OF  POSSESSION     103 

"You  may  rest  easy.  His  conduct  was  irreproach- 
able, Mr.  Burkhardt  to  the  contrary." 

Sorenson  regarded  her  in  perplexity,  divided  be- 
tween anger  and  doubts.  Too,  a  new  feeling  unac- 
countably sprang  into  his  breast — jealousy.  In  the 
end  apprehension  all  at  once  filled  his  mind,  darkening 
his  face  and  bringing  down  his  brows. 

Uneasy  as  at  first  he  had  been  after  the  row  in  the 
restaurant,  he  had  eventually  dismissed  the  matter  from 
his  mind,  for  no  rumor  of  it  had  reached  San  Mateo. 
Neither  Weir  nor  Johnson,  the  girl's  father,  had 
blabbed  of  it,  so  his  alarm  passed;  they  didn't  want 
to  talk  of  it  for  the  girl's  sake,  any  more  than  he 
wished  it  known,  was  his  grinning  conclusion.  The 
deuce  would  have  been  to  pay  if  Janet  had  got  wind  of 
the  business.  But  now  his  fears  came  winging  back  a 
hundred-fold  as  he  stared  at  her. 

"What  did  he  say  to  you?"  he  asked,  in  a  tense 
voice. 

"Not  that  tone  with  me,  if  you  please." 

Sorenson,  however,  was  past  observation  of  her  mood 
or  temper. 

"He  told  you  a  lot  of  lies  about  me,  didn't  he?"  he 
went  on,  not  hiding  the  sneer.  "And  you  believed 
them." 

"He  didn't  say  much,  but  what  he  did  say  was  to 
the  point.  I  don't  recall  that  there  were  any  lies." 

"There  were,  of  course.  It  would  be  just  his  chance 
to  give  you  his  made-up  story  about  me  and  that  John- 
son girl.  That  was  what  so  interested  you." 

"No,  he  didn't  say  anything  about  you  and  any  girl 
except  me.  Then  he  only  said  he  was  sorry  he  couldn't 
have  the  pleasure  of  my  friendship " 


104  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Ay-ee,"  the  other  grated.  His  lips  worked  above 
his  teeth. 

A  shudder  passed  over  Janet  Hosmer's  skin  at  the 
sound  and  the  sight,  for  she  had  never  seen  him  like 
this.  A  cold  hand  might  have  been  closing  about  her 
heart :  his  glare  was  animal-like  and  bestial.  His  na- 
ture at  the  instant  stood  unclothed. 

"And  he  said  he  would  be  at  pains  to  avoid  even 
chance  meetings  with  me,  because  it  would  make  talk 
and  cause  me  annoyance." 

"He'll  not  meet  you  another  time  if  I  have  anything 
to  say  about  it." 

"I  see.  But  I  wanted  you  to  understand  that  he 
told  me  no  lies,  nor  repeated  any  story — about  you  and 
a  Johnson  girl,  I  think  you  said." 

A  visible  breath  of  relief  lifted  his  breast.  He  now 
would  have  been  glad  for  some  one  to  boot  him  along 
the  street  for  ever  mentioning  the  thing.  He  almost 
had  put  his  foot  in  it.  Apparently  she  was  not  inter- 
ested in  seeking  further  knowledge  of  the  subject  that 
he  so  ill-advisedly  had  brought  up.  Lucky  for  him  she 
hadn't  the  inquisitiveness  of  some  girls. 

The  narrow  escape  restored  a  trace  of  his  good 
humor,  and  he  was  shrewd  enough  to  divert  her  mind 
before  the  incident  made  an  impression.  He  reached 
out  and  patted  her  shoulder. 

"Don't  think  me  a  scold,  darling,"  said  he.  "Burk- 
hardt  upset  me  with  his  news,  that  was  all.  He  hates 
that  gun-man  so  much  that  it's  no  wonder  he  was  angry 
at  seeing  him  hoodwink  you.  He  probably  imagined  a 
lot.  Just  don't  speak  to  Weir  if  he  tries  to  stop  you 
again.  And  pretty  soon  we'll  have  him  where  he  won't 
interfere  with  anybody." 

"When  will  that  be?" 


BY  RIGHT  OF  POSSESSION     105 

"The  county  attorney's  still  collecting  evidence. 
Nothing  will  be  done  before  the  grand  jury  meets,  which 
is  in  a  couple  of  weeks.  You  must  arrange  to  go  off 
on  a  visit  about  that  time." 

"Why?" 

"So  you  won't  have  to  go  through  the  ordeal  of 
appearing  in  court.  There  are  ways  of  fixing  such 
things."  He  laughed  softly.  "EspeciaEy  here  in  San 
Mateo  County.  It's  too  rotten  a  business  for  you  to 
have  to  step  into,  this  murder.  Come  along  down  to 
the  drug  store  and  have  some  ice  cream." 

"Not  to-night.     I'm  feeling  a  little  tired." 

"Then  let  us  rest  on  your  porch.  I  haven't  seen 
you  twice  in  the  last  week." 

"Some  other  evening,  Ed.  I  promised  father  to  help 
get  up  his  account  books." 

"You're  not  angry  with  me£"  he  asked.  "If  you're 
not,  give  me  a  kiss  before  I  go." 

A  sharp  smile  showed  on  her  lips. 

"I'm  not  angry,  but  I'm  going  to  penalize  you  to 
that  extent.  If  you  must  have  a  cheek  to  press,  go 

kiss "  She  paused,  while  the  conviction  darted  into 

his  mind  that  she  had  remembered  that  Johnson  girl 
blunder  after  all,  then  said:  "Mr.  Burkhardt's  cheek." 

Again  relief  swept  him. 

"Come,  be  kind,  Janet,"  he  began.  But  she  was 
already  through  the  gate  and  skipping  up  the  walk, 
vanishing  in  the  gloom  of  the  veranda.  The  screen 
door  clapped  shut.  "Peeved,  all  right.  I'll  have  to  be 
extra-nice  to  her  for  a  day  or  so  until  she  calms  down," 
he  murmured  to  himself.  "Must  send  her  a  box  of 
chocolates  and  some  magazines  to-morrow  to  show  my 
contrite  heart;  that  always  gets  'em.  Hang  it,  it's 
time  to  fix  a  day,  too.  We've  been  engaged  long 


106  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

enough.  She  sure  has  a  figure  and  face — a  beaut!  I 
guess  she  didn't  smell  the  booze  on  my  breath.  Got  to 
be  careful  about  that  till  we're  married."  He  jumped 
into  his  car. 

The  screen  door  had  clapped  shut,  but  Janet  had  not 
entered.  She  had  employed  the  artifice  to  convey  the 
impression  it  had.  She  did  not  wish  to  go  in  to  her 
work  just  yet,  for  calm  as  she  had  appeared  during  the 
interview  her  emotions  were  running  full  tide.  Love 
Ed  Sorenson?  Marry  him?  She  groped  for  and 
dropped  into  a  wicker  chair,  her  head  sinking  in  shame 
and  self-abasement.  Never — never! 

And  before  her  mind  swam  another  face,  a  face  with 
the  hair  ruffled  about  the  brow,  clear  of  eyes  and 
strong-lined,  as  she  had  beheld  it  in  the  moonlight  of 
the  road. 

All  at  once  she  tugged  at  a  finger,  fiercely  pulling 
off  the  engagement  ring.  She  rubbed  her  cheek  as  well, 
with  an  angry  hand,  for  the  memory  of  kisses  was  burn- 
ing her  as  by  fire. 

Then  she  sat  quite  motionless  for  a  long  time. 

"I'll  just  ask  father,"  she  exclaimed.  "There  can't 
be  more  than  a  dozen  Johnsons  around  here." 

Which  would  have  given  Ed  Sorenson  a  fresh  jolt 
in  his  breathing  apparatus  if  he  had  overheard,  and 
shriveled  the  cocky  self-assurance  with  which  he  sipped 
a  high-ball  that  moment  at  Vorse's  bar. 


CHAPTER  XI 

JANET  AND  MART 

IN  a  region  as  sparsely  settled  by  white  people  as 
San  Mateo  and  its  adjoining  counties  there  were  not, 
as  Janet  put  it,  more  than  a  dozen  Johnson  families. 
In  fact,  there  were  but  two,  she  learned  from  her 
father:  one  at  Bowenville,  the  small  railroad  town  of 
three  hundred  people,  a  merchant  with  a  wife  and  four 
little  children;  the  other  a  rancher  on  Terry  Creek, 
whose  wife  was  dead  and  who  had  one  child,  a  girl  of 
sixteen  or  seventeen  years  of  age. 

"I  may  be  away  at  dinner  time,  so  don't  wait  for 
me,"  she  told  her  father  next  morning.  "I'm  going 
out  in  the  country  a  few  miles — and  you  know  my  car ! 
If  you'd  just  let  me  squeeze  some  of  these  patients  who 
never  pay,  you  could  have  a  new  car  yourself." 

"Mine's  all  right,"  he  smiled. 

"But  mine  isn't.  Look  at  it.  You  gave  it  to  me 
only  because  you  scorned  to  ride  in  it  any  longer  your- 
self. It  would  do  for  me,  you  said,  but  you  prance 
around  in  a  bright  shiny  one  yourself.  I  blush  at  the 
row  mine  makes ;  sounds  like  a  boiler  factory ;  I  drive 
only  along  side  streets.  If  the  patients  would  pay 
what  they  owe,  I  could  ride  like  a  lady  instead  of  a 
slinking  magpie." 

The  doctor  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  laughed 
(they  were  at  breakfast)  and  remarked  that  old  friends 
were  best. 

107 


"Don't  call  my  asthmatic  tin  beast  a  friend;  we're 
bitter  enemies,'*  said  she. 

It  carried  her  to  Terry  Creek  about  noon,  however, 
safely  enough,  whither  she  went  with  a  firm  resolution 
that  crushed  a  certain  embarrassment  and  anxiety. 
Suppose  these  people  resented  her  inquiries. 

She  placed  the  bearded,  tanned  rancher  at  once,  when 
she  saw  him  working  on  a  piece  of  harness  before  the 
door  as  she  drove  up.  She  had  seen  him  in  town  at  dif- 
ferent times.  She  once  had  stopped  here,  too,  several 
years  previous  when  accompanying  her  father,  who  had 
been  called  to  dress  the  rancher's  injured  hand.  The 
girl  could  not  have  been  over  twelve  or  thirteen  then, 
a  shabby,  awkward  girl  wearing  a  braid  who  came  out 
to  gaze  shyly  at  her  sitting  in  the  car. 

Johnson  arose  from  the  ground  and  approached  as 
she  alighted,  while  the  girl's  head  popped  into  sight 
at  the  door. 

"I'm  Dr.  Hosmer's  daughter,  Janet,"  she  stated,  put- 
ting out  her  hand  and  smiling.  "I've  come  to  see  you 
on  a  matter.  Shall  we  go  into  the  house?" 

With  curiosity  sharing  a  vague  hostility  in  his  bear- 
ing he  led  her  in,  where  his  daughter  was  setting  the 
table.  Janet  also  told  the  girl  who  she  was.  At  once 
dismay  and  startlement  greeted  the  announcement. 
But  she  invited  Janet  to  be  seated,  she  herself  with- 
drawing to  a  spot  by  the  stove. 

No  need  for  Janet  to  beat  about  the  bush  with  her 
errand. 

"Mr.  Johnson,"  she  said,  "I've  come  to  you  and 
your  daughter  for  a  little  help  if  you  can  give  it." 
That  seemed  the  best  way  to  break  down  their  reserve, 
an  appeal  rather  than  simply  blunt  questions — and 
what  was  it  if  not  an  appeal?  "What  I  have  to  say  is 


JANET  AND  MARY  109 

just  among  the  three  of  us  and  I  know  it  will  go  no 
farther.  You're  acquainted  with  ray  father;  he's  re- 
spected by  every  one." 

"He  is,"  Johnson  stated,  nodding. 

"The  situation  is  this,  to  speak  plainly:  last  night 
I  heard  something  that  has  caused  me  to  come  to  you 
for  information;  I'm  engaged  to  Ed  Sorenson,  and  in 
a  moment  of  anger  he  denounced  Mr.  Weir,  the  en- 
gineer at  the  dam,  for  having  told  me  a  false  story — 
lies — about  him  and  your  daughter." 

Janet  perceived  the  quick,  troubled  look  exchanged 
by  man  and  girl. 

"Mr.  Weir  has  never  mentioned  your  daughter's 
name  in  my  hearing;  I  think  him  incapable  of  discuss- 
ing any  one  maliciously.  He's  very  careful  of  what 
he  says.  I  consider  him  a  very  honorable  man.  At  any 
rate,  he  said  nothing  of  what  Ed  Sorenson  suggested, 
and  if  the  latter  himself  hadn't  spoken  of  the  thing 
I  should  have  had  no  inkling  that  there  had  been  any- 
thing justifying  an  inquiry  on  my  part.  There  may 
not  be.  But  why  should  he  imagine  Mr.  Weir  had  told 
me  'lies'  linking  him  and  your  daughter?" 

"I  know  Weir — and  I  know  Ed  Sorenson,  too,"  was 
the  rancher's  grim  rejoinder. 

"This  is  a  disagreeable  subject,  I  know.  But  I'm 
not  here  out  of  mere  curiosity,  but  a  desire  to  learn  if 
something  has  been  concealed  from  me  by  Ed  Soren- 
son that  I  should  be  informed  of.  His  manner,  his 
words,  the  whole  incident  has  filled  me  with  doubts. 
See,  I'm  trusting  you  absolutely."  And  she  extended 
a  hand  in  a  gesture  bespeaking  sincerity. 

Johnson  peered  at  her  in  silence  from  under  shaggy 
brows. 

"I  ask  myself  why  Mr.  Sorenson  took  it  for  granted 


110  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

that  the  engineer  had  been  telling  me  false  stories  and 
if  there  was  any  ground  for  such  fears,"  she  went  on. 
"He  had  nothing  to  be  afraid  of,  no  matter  what  might 
be  said,  if  he  had  done  nothing  unworthy.  I  can't 
imagine  Mr.  Weir,  for  instance,  being  alarmed  in  that 
way." 

"They're  telling  plenty  of  lies  about  him,  for  that 
matter,  but  I  guess  it  doesn't  worry  him  any,"  John- 
son said. 

"What  I  ask  you  touches  a  delicate  subject,  per- 
haps," Janet  continued,  reluctantly.  "You  may  feel 
that  I'm  pushing  in  where  I'm  not  concerned.  But  if 
Mr.  Sorenson  has  done  anything  discreditable — if  he 
has  acted  in  a  way  to  make  me  ashamed  when  I  know, 
then  it  becomes  a  matter  affecting  my  happiness  too. 
I  would  never  marry  a  man  who  had  done  something 
dishonorable,  for  if  I  did  so  knowingly  I  should  be  dis- 
honored and  dishonorable  as  well." 

Johnson  suddenly  thrust  a  brown  forefinger  at  her. 
"Do  you  want  to  know  what  Sorenson  did?"  he  de- 
manded, wrathfully. 

Janet  gripped  her  hands  together.    "Yes." 
"You'll  not  go  spreading  it  all  around  the  country? 
But  I  guess  you  won't  as  long  as  it  would  make  you 
out  a  fool  too.     I'll  not  have  Mary's  name  dragged 
about  in  a  lot  of  gossip." 

"I  assure  you  I  shall  remain  silent,  for  her  sake  and 
my  own." 

"All  right,  I'll  tell  you.  You're  too  good  a  girl — 
any  decent  girl  is — to  marry  Ed  Sorenson.  He  met 
Mary  at  a  dance  last  spring  in  town  where  she  went 
with  some  friends  of  ours,  and  made  love  to  her  but 
wouldn't  let  her  tell  me  or  any  one.  We  don't  get  to 
town  so  very  often;  she  never  knew  he  was  engaged 


JANET  AND  MARY  111 

to  marry  you,  there  never  happening  to  be  any  men- 
tion of  it  to  her.  Then  he  got  her  to  go  to  Bowenville 
one  day  awhile  ago,  under  promise  to  marry  her  there 
— Mary  is  only  sixteen,  a  little  girl  yet.  To  me,  any- 
way." 

Janet  felt  the  working  of  his  love  in  those  simple 
words.  Felt  it  but  half-consciously,  though,  for  her 
own  soul  was  stifling  at  Ed  Sorenson's  revealed  in- 
famy. 

"When  he  got  her  there,  he  told  her  they  would  have 
to  go  away  farther  to  be  married — to  Los  Angeles." 
Again  his  finger  came  up,  this  time  to  be  shaken  at  her 
like  a  hammer.  "He  never  intended  to  marry  her;  he 
planned  to  get  her  there,  ruin  her,  and  cast  her  off. 
That's  the  sort  of  man  you're  going  to  marry !" 

"I  remember  he  expected  to  be  away  for  a  couple  of 
weeks — a  business  trip,  he  said.  But  afterwards  he  ex- 
plained that  it  hadn't  been  necessary  to  go." 

"A  business  trip!  Yes,  the  dirty  kind  of  business 
he  likes.  And  if  it  hadn't  been  that  Weir  heard  him 
explaining  to  Mary  that  she  must  go  on  and  interfered 
— there  in  the  restaurant — Ed  Sorenson  might  have 
succeeded.  Mary  trusted  him,  thought  he  was  straight. 
But  he's  crooked,  crooked  as  his  old  man.  When  Weir 
told  him  to  his  face  what  he  thought  of  his  tricks,  he 
let  it  out  he  was  engaged  to  you.  Didn't  mean  to,  of 
course.  Weir  said  he  would  stay  right  with  them  and 
see  that  they  got  married  next  day  before  a  minister, 
then  Sorenson  snapped  out  he  was  to  marry  you.  That 
opened  Mary's  eyes,  that  and  his  refusing  to  go  before 
a  preacher  as  the  engineer  demanded.  So  Weir  brought 
her  home  to  me. 

"And  that  isn't  all  I  know,"  he  snarled.  "Mexicans 
and  cowboys  and  others  have  talked — women  don't 


112  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

hear  these  things — how  he's  had  to  pay  Mexicans  hush- 
money  for  girls  of  theirs  he's  wronged.  But  what  do 
people  care?  He's  rich,  he's  old  man  Sorenson's  boy; 
everything's  kept  quiet;  and  he  goes  around  as  big  as 
life."  With  a  muttered  oath  he  turned  away,  his  lips 
shut  hard  and  his  beard  sticking  out  savagely. 

He  came  back  to  her  again. 

"The  young  one  gets  it  from  the  old  one,"  he  ex- 
claimed. "Bad  crooked  blood  in  both  of  them.  I 
know.  I've  been  here  ever  since  I  was  a  boy  and  re- 
member things  Sorenson  believes  every  one  has  for- 
gotten. I  know  how  he  got  his  start,  how  he  and  the 
rest  of  his  bunch  cleaned  out  Dent  of  his  ranch  and 
cattle  gambling  and  then  killed  him  when  he  discovered 
they  had  used  marked  cards,  how  at  the  same  time  they 
robbed  another  man ** 

Janet  struggled  to  her  feet.  She  had  covered  her 
eyes  and  bowed  her  head  before  the  torrent  of  his  ve- 
hemence. 

"No  more,  I  want  to  hear  no  more,"  she  gasped. 
"Let  me  go  home.  I'm  sick." 

"It  all  makes  me  sick,  too,"  he  answered.  "Sick 
and  sore,  both.  But  it's  the  truth.  I'm  sorry  if  it's 
been  a  bad  pill  to  swallow,  but  it's  the  God's  truth, 
girl.  I'm  sorry  it  couldn't  be  any  other  way,  but  I 
wouldn't  see  you  marry  that  scoundrel  if  I  lost  a  hand 
stopping  you.  Mary  felt  sick  at  first,  too ;  she's  over 
it  now.  You'll  not  feel  bad  long.  Better  stay  for  din- 
ner with  us." 

"I  couldn't  swallow  a  bite.  Thank  you  for  your 
kindness  in  asking  me — and  for  telling  me  what  I 
wanted  to  know,  too.  Father  never  knew,  or  he  would 
have  warned  me.  People  saw  I  was  engaged  to  Ed 
Sorenson  and  would  say  nothing  to  father,  of  course. 


JANET  AND  MARY  113 

I  shall  always  count  you  as  one  of  my  best  friends,  Mr. 
Johnson.  And  you  too,  Mary ;  you  must  come  down 
and  stay  with  me  sometime,  for  I  imagine  you  get  lonely 
here.  No,  another  day  I'll  remain  to  dinner — and  I 
want  to  be  alone  now." 

They  pressed  her  no  further,  seeing  her  wretchedness 
of  spirit.  But  they  walked  with  her  to  the  car  and 
shook  hands  with  her  when  she  was  in  and  urged  her  to 
come  again. 

When  she  had  disappeared  in  the  aspens  among 
which  the  trail  led,  Mary  said  to  her  father: 

"You  said  they  killed  a  man  named  Dent." 

"They  did.     I  saw  the  killing." 

"And  nothing  was  ever  done  about  it  ?" 

"No.  Nobody  but  me  knew  of  the  happening  and 
I'd  of  had  a  bullet  through  my  heart  if  I'd  talked.  I 
might  yet  even  now,  so  see  that  you  keep  your  mouth 
shut." 

"You  told  her." 

"I  was  mad,  so  mad  I  could  say  anything.  But  she 
isn't  the  kind  to  repeat  the  story;  I'm  not  afraid  on 
that  score.  She's  clean  strain  all  through." 

"Did  you  know  the  man  whom  Sorenson  and  the 
others  killed?"  Mary  questioned,  in  some  awe. 

"I  knew  of  him,  but  I  was  only  a  lad  then.  I  saw  it 
all  through  the  back  door  of  Verse's  saloon  where  it 
happened,  but  I've  never  breathed  about  it  to  a  soul.  I 
didn't  want  to  be  murdered  some  dark  night.  Those 
four  men  would  see  that  the  job  was  done  quick  even 
now,  I'm  saying,  if  they  were  on  to  the  fact.  I  know 
*em,  if  nobody  else  does." 

Mary's  skin  crawled  with  prickles  of  fear. 

"They  must  be  awful  bad." 

"They  were  devils  then,  and  I  don't  think  they've 


114  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

changed  to  angels  to-day,  though  they  try  to  appear 
decent.  I  know  'em ;  I  know  what  they'll  do  once  they 
start.  You  can't  make  sheep  out  of  wolves  just  by 
giving  'em  a  fleece." 

"You  said  they  robbed  another  man  at  the  same  time 
they  killed  that  Dent." 

"Yes;  and  it  only  goes  to  show  the  hellish  crooks 
they  are.  It  was  another  man  in  the  saloon.  He  was 
drunk.  They  made  him  believe  he  had  killed  Dent. 
Then  said  they'd  help  him  to  get  away  if  he  gave  them 
his  property.  He  was  a  rich  fellow  who  had  come  out 
from  the  east  and  gone  to  ranching,  a  tenderfoot. 
They  took  his  stuff  and  he  skipped  the  country  with  his 
wife.  That  was  the  last  of  him,  and  I  reckon  he  be- 
lieves to  this  day  that  he's  a  murderer.  And  that's  how 
they  got  the  start  of  their  wealth,  or  a  big  part  of  it, 
Sorenson  and  Vorse  and  the  other  two.  They've  got 
the  San  Mateo  Cattle  Company,  with  fifty  thousand 
head  of  steers,  and  ten  or  twenty  bands  of  sheeps  and 
ranches,  and  the  bank,  and  all  the  rest,  and  they  walk 
around  like  honest  men.  But  they're  thieves  and  mur- 
derers, Mary,  thieves  and  murderers!  I'd  rather  be 
the  man  I  am,  poor  and  with  nothing  but  this  little 
mortgaged  piece  of  ground  and  my  few  cattle,  than 
them,  who  robbed  Dent  and  killed  him  and  then  robbed 
and  drove  out  Weir." 

"Was  that  the  other  man's  name?" 

"Yes." 

"That's  funny.  The  same  as  the  man  who  brought 
me  home." 

"There  are  lots  of  Weirs,  like  the  Johnsons." 

"Not  so  many,  I  guess.  Maybe  they're  related.  Did 
the  man  who  skipped  have  any  children?" 


JANET  AND  MARY  115 

"No.  None  I  ever  heard  of,  though  I  didn't  know 
much  about  him.  Just  him  and  his  wife,  I  think." 

Johnson  had  perceived  no  resemblance  between  the 
engineer  and  the  vanished  man  of  whom  he  spoke.  As 
for  that,  however,  he  had  no  clear  recollection  of  the 
elder  Weir's  face;  he  was  but  twelve  years  old  at 
the  time  of  the  dramatic  event,  thirty  years  before. 

"Now,  come  along  and  eat,"  he  said.  "And  remem- 
ber! Not  a  word  of  this  to  a  soul." 

Meanwhile  Janet  Hosmer  was  driving  slowly  down 
the  canyon,  oblivious  that  opportunity  to  unlock  the 
whole  mystery  had  been  hers,  never  dreaming  that  she 
had  just  missed  by  the  slenderest  margin  what  Steele 
Weir  would  have  given  the  world  to  know. 

For  an  instant  Fate  had  placed  the  key  in  her  hand. 
She  knew  it  not;  it  was  withdrawn  again  and  the  door 
remained  closed  and  locked  while  the  threads  of  Des- 
tiny continued  to  be  spun. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  PLOT 

IN  Verse's  saloon,  where  in  the  past  so  many  evil 
ideas  for  the  acquisition  of  money  or  power  had 
sprouted,  the  scheme  had  its  inception.  It  had  been 
of  slow  growth,  with  innumerable  suggestions  consid- 
ered, tested,  discarded.  The  intended  arrest  and  trial 
of  Weir  had  been  the  first  aim ;  but  this  had  expanded 
until  at  last  the  plot  had  become  of  really  magnificent 
proportions,  cunning  yet  daring,  devilish  enough  even 
to  satisfy  the  hate  and  greed  of  its  originators,  consum- 
mate in  design,  absolutely  safe  and  conclusive. 

It  was  Sorenson  who  conceived  the  notion  of  pulling 
the  irrigation  project  down  in  ruins  at  the  moment  of 
Weir's  own  fall.  Judge  Gordon  a  few  days  later  had 
pieced  out  the  method,  which  was  either  to  corrupt  the 
workmen  to  wreck  dam  and  camp  or  to  place  them  in 
the  equivocal  position  of  having  done  so  apparently 
though  others  did  it  in  fact.  Vorse  and  Burkhardt  de- 
vised the  details.  Weir  should  be  left  free  until  the 
blow  had  fallen  on  the  camp,  whereupon  he  should  be 
immediately  clapped  into  jail  on  the  murder  charge, 
which,  coming  on  top  of  the  "riot,"  would  paralyze  all 
company  action  and  work.  From  such  a  crushing 
double-blow  no  concern  could  quickly  recover,  if  indeed 
the  loss  did  not  result  in  total  cessation  of  construc- 
tion. 

Thus  shedding  their  coats  of  expedient  lawfulness, 
116 


THE  PLOT  117 

they  reverted  under  the  menace  of  Steele  Weir's  pres- 
ence to  the  men  they  were  in  an  earlier  age — an  age 
when  a  few  white  land  and  cattle  "barons"  dominated 
the  region,  predatory,  arrogant,  masterful  and  des- 
potic; the  age  just  ceasing  when  the  elder  Weir  and 
Dent  arrived ;  the  age  of  their  youth  forty  years  before, 
the  age  when  railroads  and  telegraphs  and  law  were 
remote,  and  chicanery  and  force  were  the  common 
agents,  and  "guns"  the  final  arbiters. 

To  them  Weir  was  like  a  reincarnated  spirit  of  that 
age.  He  guessed  if  he  did  not  know  their  past.  He 
had  appeared  in  order  to  challenge  their  supremacy, 
end  their  rule,  avenge  his  father's  dispossession  at  their 
hands.  He  instinctively  and  by  nature  was  an  enemy ; 
he  would  have  been  their  enemy  in  any  other  place  and 
under  any  other  circumstances.  He  was  a  head-hunter, 
and  in  turn  was  to  be  hunted  down.  He  was  the  kind 
who  neither  made  compromises  nor  asked  quarter.  He 
veiled  his  purposes  in  as  great  secrecy  as  did  they,  and 
when  he  struck  it  would  be  suddenly,  fiercely,  merci- 
lessly— if  he  struck.  They  were  determined  he  should 
not  strike,  being  himself  first  surprised  and  crushed,  for 
though  in  ignorance  of  what  he  could  bring  against 
them  their  fears  were  real.  Everything,  indeed,  about 
the  man  antagonized  them,  alarmed  them,  stirred  their 
hate  and  filmed  their  eyes  with  blood.  He  must  be 
destroyed. 

"And  with  him  the  dam,"  Sorenson  had  said.  "Both 
together."  For  there  was  no  effort  to  conceal  among" 
themselves  their  savage  intention. 

"He'll  never  come  to  trial,"  Verse  remarked,  with  a 
malignant  gleam  in  his  blue  eyes  and  a  shutting  of  his 
thin  lips.  "An  attempted  jail  delivery  by  'friends' 


118  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

will  fix  that.  All  they  will  have  to  do  then  is  to  buy  him 
a  pine  box." 

"If  the  man  had  but  stayed  away!"  Judge  Gordon 
exclaimed.  Cunning,  not  force,  was  his  forte;  and  the 
measures  in  prospect  at  times  had  oppressed  him  with 
dreadful  forebodings.  He  was  growing  old,  feeble,  and 
here  when  he  was  entitled  to  peace  he  still  had  to  fight 
for  his  own. 

In  accordance  with  the  scheme  Burkhardt  vanished 
from  San  Mateo  for  a  time,  ostensibly  on  business  but 
in  fact  on  a  journey  across  the  Mexican  line,  where  he 
conducted  negotiations  with  a  certain  "revolu9ionista" 
of  no  particular  notoriety  as  yet,  of  avaricious  char- 
acter, unscrupulous  nature,  and  with  a  small  following 
of  fellow  bandits  and  a  large  animosity  for  Americans. 
His  ambition  was  to  emulate  the  brilliant  Villa.  But 
pickings  had  been  poor  of  late,  no  more  than  that  of 
stealing  a  few  horses  from  across  the  border.  To 
Burkhardt,  who  had  heard  of  him  and  sought  him  out, 
he  listened  with  interest  and  bargained  with  zest.  Five 
thousand  in  gold  for  fifty  men  was  like  pearls  from 
Paradise.  And  whatever  this  Yankee's  own  private 
purpose,  it  was  a  chance  for  the  chieftain  to  strike 
secretly  and  safely  at  Americans,  in  addition. 

"They  will  come  through  in  squads  after  they've 
slipped  across  the  line,"  Burkhardt  reported.  "They're 
to  pose  as  laborers." 

"When?"  Sorenson  asked. 

"Along  next  week.  They're  to  drop  off  down  along 
the  railroad  at  different  towns  and  I'll  run  them  up 
into  the  mountains  with  some  grub.  Then  we'll  as- 
semble them  quietly  a  couple  miles  off  from  the  dam, 
where  they'll  be  handy  on  the  chosen  night.  After- 
wards we'll  slip  them  back  to  the  railroad,  and  they 


THE  PLOT  119 

fade  into  Mexico.  Weir's  workmen  will  be  drunk  and 
rowing — and  will  have  done  the  job,  eh?"  Burkhardt 
shook  with  suppressed,  evil  laughter. 

"If  they're  drunk,  they  may  join  in  and  help,"  Judge 
Gordon  stated,  acutely.  "A  mob  full  of  whiskey  will 
ido  anything.  If  they  did  take  a  hand,  it  would  round 
out  the  case  against  them  perfectly.  Very  likely  next 
day  they,  too,  would  fade,  as  you  put  it,  Burkhardt; 
they  would  want  to  get  out  of  this  part  of  country  as 
quickly  as  possible  when  they  realized  what  had  hap- 
pened. I  see  no  flaw  in  our  plan.  Fortunately  the 
three  directors  who  are  coming  will  be  gone  by  the  end 
of  next  week." 

"What's  that?    What  directors?"  Burkhardt  asked. 

"They're  to  be  here  on  an  inspection  trip,  so  they 
wrote,  and  will  be  pleased  to  hear  our  complaints  in 
regard  to  the  question  of  workmen."  Gordon's  tone 
was  ironical.  "I  wrote  them  protesting  Weir's  dis- 
charge of  our  people,  you  remember,  but  that  was  some 
time  ago." 

"What's  the  use  of  paying  attention  to  the  fools 
now?" 

"We  must  carry  out  the  farce,  Burkhardt,  for  the 
sake  of  appearances." 

"I'd  like  to  blow  them  up  along  with  their  dam !"  was 
the  scowling  rejoinder.  "Well,  let  'em  inspect.  Next 
time  they  come  back  there  won't  be  any." 

"I  believe  we  should  arrest  Weir  before  the  thing's 
pulled  off,"  Gordon  said,  meditatively.  "It  would  be 
surer." 

Sorenson  set  his  heavy  jaw. 

"No.  I  want  him  to  see  the  wreck;  I  want  him  to 
know  just  what's  happened  before  he's  haled  away;  I 


120  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

want  him  feeling  good  and  sick  already  when  he  gets 
the  next  jolt." 

"Sure.  It's  him  or  us,  as  I've  said  from  the  first; 
and  I've  always  believed  in  making  a  clean  sweep," 
Vorse  remarked.  "We  have  the  right  line  this  time. 
First,  make  his  men  drunk  and  sore;  then  smash  the 
works;  then  arrest  him  quick;  and  last  finish  him  off 
with  a  bullet  during  a  pretended  jail  delivery." 

"There  will  be  elements  of  danger  in  the  last,"  Judge 
Gordon  stated,  cautiously. 

Vorse  smiled  and  Burkhardt  grinned. 

"Not  so  you'll  notice  it,"  said  the  latter.  "The  town 
won't  know  anything  about  it  until  afterwards.  Just  a 
few  good  men  at  night,  masked  and  working  fast,  and 
the  thing  is  done." 

"J'H  not  feel  easy  tiU  it's  over." 

"Keep  up  your  nerve,  Judge,"  Burkhardt  grunted. 
"You  used  to  be  as  lively  as  anybody  when  you  were 
young." 

"I  know,  I  know.  But  this  Weir  isn't  going  to  stand 
idle.  If  he  ever  gets  a  chance  with  his  gun " 

"He  won't  get  it,"  said  Vorse. 

"And  he'll  not  resist  the  sheriff  when  Madden  ar- 
rests him  legally,"  Sorenson  added.  "Nothing  could 
be  better  for  us  than  if  he  did.  He  knows  that." 

"Still  I'll  be  glad  when  next  week  is  past,"  the  Judge 
replied,  with  a  sigh. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   CURBENT   OF   EVENTS 

THOUGH  outwardly  the  world's  face  was  as  calm  as 
ever,  though  peace  seemed  to  bask  on  San  Mateo  and 
the  broad  mesa  and  lofty  mountain  range,  events  were 
rapidly  shaping  themselves  to  bring  a  thunder  crash 
of  contending  forces.  Not  Weir,  not  even  the  little 
evil  cabal  plotting  so  desperately  against  him,  guessed 
the  scope  and  power  of  the  passions  to  be  released. 

As  a  vital  impulse  towards  the  climax,  though  an 
unconscious  one  on  her  part  so  far  as  the  general  play 
of  circumstance  was  concerned,  Janet  Hosmer  in- 
formed Ed  Sorenson  of  her  determination  to  break 
their  engagement.  This  was  the  same  evening  she  re- 
turned from  the  Johnson  ranch,  when  he  called  at  her 
telephoned  request.  He  went  to  her  home  under  the 
impression  that  his  box  of  candy  and  bundle  of  new 
magazines  had  restored  him  to  favor.  He  was  very 
jaunty,  in  fact,  and  bent  on  persuading  her  to  name 
an  early  day  for  their  nuptials. 

Imagine  his  wrath  when  she  explained  that  she 
wished  to  say  that  she  could  not  marry  him,  at  the 
same  time  handing  him  his  ring  and  the  other  trinkets 
he  had  bestowed  upon  her. 

"Is  it  because  of  our  little  spat  last  night  about  the 
engineer?"  he  demanded.  "I  apologized,  Janet.  I'm 
sorry  still,  and  I  love  you  above  everything  else." 

"I  think  not,"  said  she. 
121 


122  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

"But  I  do,  Janet.     Above  everything." 

"No,  not  above  yourself  and  your  vices.  You  de- 
ceived me  for  a  long  time,  but  now  I  know  the  truth. 
You  aroused  my  suspicions  when  you  mentioned  a  John- 
son girl ;  there's  only  one  Johnson  girl  hereabouts,  as  I 
learned;  and  this  noon  I  visited  her  and  her  father. 
They  informed  me  fully  about  your  conduct  towards 
Mary  at  Bowenville  and  your  promises  to  marry  her 
— that,  when  you  were  engaged  to  me.  There  are  other 
things  I  heard  to-day.  Of  affairs  with  Mexican  girls 
that  are  shameful." 

"Lies,  lies !"  was  the  passionate  disclaimer.  "Or  if 
I  have  been  flirting  a  little,  and  never  since  my  en- 
gagement, it's  no  more  than  any  fellow  does." 

"You  can  neither  excuse  nor  justify  your  words  and 
actions  towards  Mary  Johnson  not  a  month  ago." 

"They're  liars,  I  tell  you." 

''Will  you  confront  them  and  say  that?" 

Taken  by  surprise  Sorenson  hesitated,  flushed,  and 
then  made  a  gesture  of  disdain. 

"I'll  not,  because  I'll  not  condescend  to  answer  such 
baseless  charges,"  he  stated.  "I  thought  you  had  sense 
enough  not  to  believe  every  little  thing  you  hear.  Cer- 
tainly I  expect  you  not  to  believe  this,  and  I  know  you 
won't  on  consideration.  Then  we'll  be  married.  I  came 
here  to-night  to  urge  you  to  marry  me  soon." 

"I'll  never  marry  you,  and  we're  no  longer  engaged. 
You've  acted  faithlessly  and  dishonorably.  You're  not 
the  decent  man  I  thought  you  were." 

"Don't  you  still  love  me,  Janet?" 

"No.  I  don't  think  I  ever  loved  you ;  I  was  loving  a 
man  who  didn't  exist,  an  illusion  I  imagined  to  be  Ed 
Sorenson,  not  your  real  self.  If  I  loved  at  all,  which 
I  now  doubt!  And  you  never  loved  me,  though  you 


THE  CURRENT  OF  EVENTS   123 

may  think  you  did  and  still  do.  But  it's  not  so ;  for  no 
man  who  really  loved  a  respectable  girl  could  at  the 
same  time  do  what  you  did.  Think  of  it !  While  pre- 
tending to  love  me,  you  were  secretly  trying  to  inveigle 
that  poor  ignorant  girl  away  from  home.  You're  not 
a  man;  you're  a  beast.  The  shame  and  disgust  and 
humiliation  I  suffer  at  the  thought  of  my  position  dur- 
ing that  time,  your  effort  to  hoodwink  both  Mary 
Johnson  and  me,  so  fills  me  with  anger  I  can't  talk  to 
you.  Go,  go!  And  please  don't  even  speak  to  me 
hereafter,  on  the  street  or  anywhere  else." 

Instead  of  departing  the  man  grasped  her  wrist  and 
gave  her  a  venomous  look. 

"It  was  this  sneak  of  an  engineer,  after  all,  who 
told  you  this  lie  and  turned  you  against  me,"  he 
snarled. 

"Let  me  go.  Mr.  Weir  said  nothing.  It  was  you 
yourself  who  betrayed  yourself,  or  I  should  not  have 
known  as  I  do,  thank  heavens.  Stop  holding  my 
wrist!" 

For  an  instant  Sorenson  wavered  between  whether 
he  should  obey  her  command  or  strike  her  as  his  rage 
prompted.  A  very  devil  of  passion  beating  in  his 
breast  urged  him  to  show  her  her  place,  deal  with  her 
as  he  would  like  to  do  and  as  she  deserved — throw 
her  down  and  drag  her  by  the  hair  until  she  crawled 
forward  and  clasped  his  knees  in  subjection.  But  the 
look  in  her  eyes  cooled  this  half-insane,  whiskey-in- 
spired desire. 

He  took  his  hand  off  her  wrist,  picked  up  his  hat. 

"You  can't  throw  me  down  this  way,"  he  sneered. 
''You're  going  to  marry  me  just  the  same,  whether  you 
think  so  or  not.  I  have  a  voice  in  this  engagement, 
and  you  can't  break  your  word  and  promise  to  me 


124  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

because  it  happens  to  strike  your  fancy.  Not  for  a 
single  minute!" 

"If  you  were  a  gentleman  and  a  decent  man  you 
wouldn't  say  that." 

"I'm  not  either,  by  your  judgment,  so  I  do  say  it. 
I  say  it  again :  you're  going  to  marry  me,  willingly  or 
unwillingly.  Now  if  after  thinking  it  over,  you  want 
to  forget  all  this  and  go  on  as  before,  all  right.  If  not, 
our  engagement  still  holds  just  the  same.  You  may  re- 
lease me,  but  I  haven't  released  you.  Remember  that. 
And  keep  away  from  that  engineer  if  you  know  what's 
best  for  you!" 

With  a  scowl  he  stalked  out  of  the  house,  leaving  a 
very  angry,  very  tremulous  and  very  heart-sick  girl. 
The  fellow  was  in  truth  not  a  man,  she  perceived,  but  a 
creature  so  conscienceless  and  loathsome  that  she 
seemed  contaminated  through  and  through  by  his 
touch,  his  words,  and  their  previous  relations.  How 
grossly  he  had  deceived  her  as  to  his  real  character! 
What  a  horrible  future  as  his  wife  she  had  escaped! 
Nor  was  she  yet  free,  for  he  promised  to  make  an  in- 
finity of  trouble. 

That  day  she  could  do  nothing.  Her  father  noting 
her  face  asked  what  was  the  trouble,  and  she  told  him 
the  whole  affair. 

"I've  heard  rumors  of  late  about  him  and  was  wor- 
ried," he  said.  "You  did  the  only  thing,  of  course. 
Pay  no  attention  to  his  words ;  I'll  see  he  doesn't  annoy 
you." 

It  was  three  or  four  days  afterwards  that  she  called 
Weir  up  at  the  dam  in  a  desire  to  hear  the  voice  of  a 
man  she  knew  to  be  straight  and  upright. 

"I've  wondered  if  a  girl  is  allowed  to  look  at  your 
dam,"  she  said  on  impulse,  when  they  had  chatted  for 


THE  CURRENT  OF  EVENTS   125 

a  moment.     "Father,  who  was  at  your  camp  to  attend 
an  injured  man,  says  you're  making  famous  progress." 

"I'd  be  more  than  delighted  to  show  you  the  work. 
But — I  wonder " 

"Don't  let  what  people  say  disturb  you,"  she  replied 
quickly,  divining  his  thought.  "I've  arranged  all 
that."  A  somewhat  obscure  remark  to  Weir. 

"Then  come  any  time — and  often.  I  hope  to  be  able 
to  conduct  you  around,  the  first  visit  at  least.  Next 
week  I  may  not  be  able  to  do  so  as  a  committee  of 
directors  arrive  who'll  take  my  time." 

"Oh,  indeed,"  Janet  answered,  politely. 

"A  manager  has  to  be  directed  occasionally,  or  he 
may  run  wild,"  she  heard,  with  his  laugh. 

"I'll  come  before  they  do,"  she  said. 

Quite  as  she  had  announced  she  did  run  up  to  the 
canyon  and  go  with  Weir  over  the  hillsides  and  dam, 
asking  questions  and  displaying  a  great  interest  in  the 
men  and  the  operation  of  the  machinery.  The  con- 
crete work  was  nearing  an  end.  Already  tracks  were 
laid  for  the  dump  trams  that  were  to  carry  dirt  from 
steam-shovels  to  the  dam  to  form  its  main  body. 

She  perceived  the  immense  labor  of  the  project  and 
the  coordinated  effort  required.  The  necessity  in  itself 
of  dragging  hither  from  Bowenville  all  of  the  supplies, 
the  material,  the  huge  machines,  was  overwhelming. 
The  responsibility  of  combining  scientific  knowledge 
and  raw  industry  to  an  exact  result  struck  her  as 
prodigious.  The  handling  of  hundreds  of  subordinate 
workmen  and  assistants  of  various  grades  and  skill  de- 
manded exceptional  ability,  understanding,  will  and 
generalship.  Yet  these  things  the  man  at  her  side, 
Steele  Weir,  accomplished  and  supplied;  and  appeared 


126  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

quite  calm  and  unmoved  about  it,  as  if  it  was  all  a  mat- 
ter of  course. 

She  glanced  at  the  ground,  flushing.  The  thought 
of  Ed  Sorenson,  making  only  a  pretense  of  doing  any- 
thing useful  and  because  his  father  was  rich  doing 
nothing  in  reality  but  waste  himself  in  vicious  prac- 
tices, was  in  her  mind.  What  must  have  the  engineer 
believed  of  her  all  this  while  when  he  knew  Sorenson's 
true  nature  and  infamous  record?  Did  he  suppose  her 
a  light-headed  feather,  indifferent  to  everything  except 
that  her  husband  should  be  rich?  Very  likely.  There 
were  plenty  of  girls  of  that  type.  He  naturally  would 
suppose  her  one. 

And  she  could  say  nothing  to  put  herself  in  a  better 
light  and  to  gain  his  respect — for  that  she  now  desired 
greatly.  She  saw  him  as  he  was,  a  big  man,  a  strong 
man,  a  man  whose  respect  was  to  be  prized.  Beside 
him  she  felt  herself  small  and  ordinary.  That  was  all 
right,  but  she  was  determined  he  should  not  believe 
her  insignificant,  shallow,  unworthy,  mercenary. 

While  she  could  not  explain  matters  openly  with- 
out shaming  herself  and  still  lowering  herself  in  his 
estimation,  he  being  only  an  acquaintance,  yet  there 
were  ways  of  getting  at  the  end.  Janet  could  act 
adroitly,  like  most  women,  when  it  best  served  the  pur- 
pose. 

"Do  you  know,  I  just  learned  from  friends  of  yours 
on  Terry  Creek  that  you're  a  public  benefactor  as  well 
as  an  engineer,"  she  stated,  when  they  paused  on  the 
hillside  for  a  last  look  at  the  dam. 

"I  ?"  he  exclaimed. 

His  eyes  came  around  and  found  hers  fixed  on  him. 

"I  happened  to  stop  at  the  Johnson  ranch.  They 
ilidn't  say  so,  but  I  know  they  would  be  pleased  to 


THE  CURRENT  OF  EVENTS   127 

death  if  you  would  go  to  dinner  there  some  day.  They 
have  some  fine  fat  chickens,  if  you  like  chicken  fried 
or  baked,  and  they  hesitate  to  ask  you  only  because 
they're  afraid  you'll  refuse." 

"Fried  chicken  is  my  weakness.  Of  course  I'll  go; 
at  the  first  spare  chance." 

But  all  the  while  Steele  Weir's  mind  was  eddying 
with  wonderment.  He  had  colored  at  mention  of  the 
Johnson  ranch,  as  if  he  had  been  caught  with  a  hand  in 
a  jam  pot.  And  it  meant  only  one  thing:  she  knew  of 
the  Bowenville  episode.  Involuntarily  his  eyes  flashed 
to  her  left  hand  with  which  she  was  brushing  back  the 
hair  under  her  hat  brim.  There  was  no  diamond  soli- 
taire on  its  third  finger.  Surely,  something  had  hap- 
pened. 

"Well,  I  must  be  returning  home.  I  just  thought  I'd 
give  you  a  tiny  hint,"  said  she.  An  odd  smile  rested 
on  her  lips  as  she  spoke,  for  hints  may  carry  multiple 
suggestions. 

"By  Jove !"  Weir  said  suddenly. 

Man  of  action  though  she  knew  him  to  be,  she  never 
anticipated  he  would  or  could  act  so  directly.  He 
reached  out  and  seized  her  left  hand  and  scanned  it 
significantly.  Then  he  raised  his  eyes. 

"What  does  this  mean  ?"  he  asked,  tapping  the  finger 
with  one  of  his  own.  "Does  this  mean " 

It  was  Janet's  turn  to  become  scarlet.  She  tried 
to  smile  again,  but  it  was  a  wavering  smile  that  ap- 
peared. 

"What  does  what  mean?"  she  fenced. 

"That — well,  that  the  ring  is  off  permanently?" 

"Oh,  yes." 

"And  that  there's  now  a  chance  for  me?" 

Janet's  eyes   at  that  popped   open  very   wide  in- 


128  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

deed.  Meanwhile  Weir  still  held  to  the  palm  resting  in 
his  own. 

"You?"  she  breathed,  faintly. 

"Me,  yes." 

Presently  with  a  gentle  movement  she  drew  her  hand 
free.  She  had  been  quite  dumbfounded,  but  not  so 
dumbfounded  that  she  did  not  realize  that  this  new  sit- 
uation had  requirements  of  its  own.  He  appeared  ab- 
solutely sincere  and  resolute. 

"But  I  never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing!"  she  stam- 
mered. 

"Nor  I — because  until  now  I  hadn't  the  right.  All 
I  ask  is  that  you  give  me  your  friendship — and  a 
chance — and — well,  we'll  see." 

"There's  no  reason  why  we  shouldn't  be  friends," 
said  she.  "We  are  already,  aren't  we  ?" 

"Yes — now.    I  never  actually  thought  so  before." 

"Things  have  changed,"  she  stated.  And  her  lips 
closed  with  a  firm  pressure  as  she  spoke.  "Or  I 
shouldn't  have  been  here  inspecting  the  dam,  should 
I?"  Again  the  smile  flashed  upon  her  face.  "You  may 
consider  this  a  preliminary  inspection  to  that  of  your 
high  and  mighty  directors,  and  I  assure  you  my  ver- 
dict— is  that  the  word  ? — is  favorable.  Now  I  must  be 
going  to  the  car.  Father  likes  his  meals  on  time." 

"And  when  shall  I  see  you  again?" 

The  note  of  eagerness  in  his  voice  set  her  heart 
moving  a  bit  faster.  If  he  carried  on  his  engineering 
work  as  he  did  his  friendship,  no  wonder  he  got  things 
clone. 

"Why,  when  you  wish  to  call,  Mr.  Weir.  Both 
father  and  I  shall  be  pleased  to  have  you  come  any 
time." 


THE  CURRENT  OF  EVENTS   129 

"I'll  certainly  avail  myself  of  the  privilege,"  said 
he.  "You  must  really  go  now?" 

With  a  feeling  of  exaltation  at  this  new  turn  of 
affairs  he  watched  her  drive  away  from  camp,  a  feeling 
that  persisted  during  the  succeeding  days. 

The  three  directors  arrived.  That  was  Thursday 
evening;  and  Friday  and  Saturday  were  devoted  to  a 
discussion  of  construction  plans,  inspection  of  the 
works,  analysis  of  costs  and  so  on.  Weir  found  the 
men  what  he  expected:  quick  to  comprehend  facts,  in- 
cisive of  mind,  and  though  of  course  not  engineers  yet 
able  to  measure  results ;  while  they  on  their  part  were 
appreciative  of  the  exceptional  progress  made  and  of 
his  thorough  command  of  the  project.  They  knew 
the  first  hour  that  the  right  manager  was  in  charge 
at  last. 

Saturday  afternoon  Sorenson  and  Judge  Gordon 
called  at  headquarters,  by  appointment,  to  discuss  the 
grievance  held  locally  against  the  company.  Weir  was 
present  at  the  meeting. 

"As  to  whether  the  Mexican  workmen  who  were  dis- 
charged were  actually  giving  a  full  return  in  work  for 
the  wages,  as  you  maintain,  gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Pol- 
lock, one  of  the  directors  and  a  corporation  lawyer 
from  New  York,  in  reply  to  the  visitors'  statement, 
"that  is  a  question  not  of  opinion  but  of  fact." 

"Fact,  yes,"  Judge  Gordon  argued.  "Fact  sup- 
ported by  the  evidence  of  the  three  hundred  work- 
men against  that  of  a  single  man,  your  manager,  who 
had  just  come." 

"Are  not  your  three  hundred  men  prejudiced  wit- 
nesses?" the  New  Yorker  inquired,  a  slight  smile  upon 
his  thin  face. 

"No  more  than  is  Mr.  Weir." 


130  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

"But  Mr.  Weir  is  the  manager  and  consequently  has 
the  power  of  decision  in  such  matters." 

"Not  to  the  extent  of  revoking  unfairly  your  prom- 
ise, given  orally,  to  be  sure,  but  still  given,  to  employ 
local  labor."  Sorenson  was  the  speaker  and  his  heavy 
face  wore  an  expression  of  ill-disguised  contempt. 

"Agreed.  Local  labor  was  to  be  hired,"  said  Pol- 
lock. "But  our  company  isn't  a  philanthropic  institu- 
tion; it's  run  on  strictly  business  principles.  Any 
agreement  we  made  implied  that  local  workmen  should 
give  exactly  what  other  workmen  would  give  in  work." 

"They  did  so,"  Judge  Gordon  affirmed. 

"There  was  no  trouble  until  this  man  came,"  Soren- 
son remarked.  "I  suppose  he  felt  that  he  had  to  show 
his  authority." 

"Ah,  but  there  was  if  not  trouble  at  any  rate  dis- 
satisfaction on  our  part,"  Pollock  stated,  tapping  a 
finger  on  the  table.  "Construction  wasn't  progressing 
as  we  knew  it  should,  which  was  the  very  reason  for 
getting  a  new  manager,  one  who  could  speed  it  up. 
But  as  I  said,  it  all  comes  down  to  a  question  of  fact. 
You  gentlemen  offer  your  workmen's  avowals  of  indus- 
try to  support  your  claim;  Mr.  Weir,  on  the  other 
hand,  gives  us  some  definite  records  to  back  up  his  side. 
Here  they  are  for  the  last  week  the  workmen  from  San 
Mateo  and  neighborhood  worked — his  first  week  here; 
and  for  the  succeeding  weeks  under  the  men  shipped  in ; 
in  material  used,  in  cubic  yards  of  concrete  construc- 
tion, and  in  percentage  of  work  finished.  Examine 
them  if  you  please.  They  show  daily  and  weekly  re- 
sults to  be  just  a  trifle  less  than  double  for  the  cor- 
responding time  the  imported  workmen  have  been  here. 
In  other  words,  the  new  men  have,  while  shortening  the 
time  of  completion,  given  twice  as  much  work  for  exact- 


THE  CURRENT  OF  EVENTS   131 

ly  the  same  wage  paid  your  Mexicans.  In  other  words, 
too,  your  local  laborers  cancelled  our  agreement  by 
their  own  incompetence." 

"Your  manager  could  easily  have  doctored  those  rec- 
ords," Sorenson  stated,  coldly. 

"You  scarcely  mean  that,  sir,"  Pollock  instantly  re- 
plied icily,  his  amiability  vanishing. 

"Come,  Judge,  we  may  as  well  go,  I  think.  We're 
appealing  to  a  prejudiced  court."  And  Sorenson 
arose. 

"Our  decision  to  view  the  matter  like  Mr.  Weir  is  be- 
cause his  position  is  sustained  by  these  facts,  not  be- 
cause we're  prejudiced,  as  you  insinuate.  But  I  may 
add  that  it  would  not  be  strange  if  we  were  prejudiced, 
as  we've  become  convinced  that  you  gentlemen  haven't 
been  sincere  in  your  attitude  towards  our  company  and 
if  anything  are  strongly  hostile.  Any  one  may  be  de- 
ceived for  a  time,  and  we  were,  but  not  permanently. 
You  would  have  done  much  better  to  have  recognized 
that  we  have  a  perfect  right  to  build  this  project  on 
land  that  we  bought  and  with  water  that  we  acquired. 
For  it  will  be  built  in  any  case  and  in  spite  of  such 
local  opposition  as  may  be  made."  Pollock  flicked  the 
ash  from  his  cigar  with  a  careful  finger.  "That  is  a 
mere  piece  of  information  or  a  declaration  of  war, 
whichever  way  you  wish  to  take  it." 

"I  told  you  we  were  wasting  onr  time  coming  here," 
the  cattleman  said  to  his  companion. 

"Good  day,  gentlemen,"  said  Judge  Gordon,  politely. 

And  the  pair  went  out  to  Sorenson's  maclu'ne. 

Shortly  after,  the  two  other  directors  left  to  catch 
a  train  at  Bowenville,  Pollock  planning  to  stay  with 
Weir  to  formulate  a  report  during  the  next  day  or  two 
for  presentation  to  the  entire  directorate  at  its  next 


132  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

meeting.  Sorenson  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  car  whirl- 
ing through  town,  with  Weir  at  the  wheel,  who  with 
Pollock  accompanied  the  departing  men  that  certain 
unsettled  points  might  be  discussed  up  to  the  last  mo- 
ment. 

As  Weir  and  Pollock  were  returning,  the  latter  eyed 
the  engineer  and  laughed. 

"You've  evidently  brushed  these  fellows',  Sorenson's 
and  Gordon's,  fur  the  wrong  way  to  please  them.  But 
they'll  probably  leave  us  alone  from  now  on." 

"They'll  not  leave  me  alone." 

"Eh?    How's  that?" 

"Well,  I  have,  as  it  happens,  a  little  trouble  with 
them  on  my  own  hook.  A  private  matter  antedating 
the  building  of  the  dam.  They're  after  me.  I  had  to 
put  a  piece  of  lead  into  a  fellow  who  tried  to  kill  me 
from  the  dark  one  night.  I  speak  of  it  in  case  you 
should  be  told  and  wonder ;  otherwise  I  should  not  have 
mentioned  the  thing.  I'm  not  popular  in  San  Mateo, 
in  consequence." 

"Ah,  I  had  heard  nothing  of  that.  It  interests  me. 
You  were  not  touched." 

"My  hat,  that  was  all." 

"Very  interesting,  very  interesting,  indeed,"  was 
Pollock's  only  comment.  But  if  his  tone  was  casual, 
his  eyes  were  busy  in  sidelong  study  of  the  engineer, 
making  a  new  appraisal  and  drawing  fresh  conclu- 
sions. 

Meanwhile  several  knots  were  being  tied  in  the  web 
of  circumstance.  Sorenson  took  his  telephone  and  con- 
versed briefly  with  Vorse,  passing  the  information  that 
he  had  just  seen  the  three  directors  leaving  for  the  east. 
So  they  were  out  of  the  way.  In  reply  the  saloon- 
keeper stated  that  he  would  start  the  whisky  end  of  the 


THE  CURRENT  OF  EVENTS   133 

game  that  evening.  By  the  morrow,  Sunday,  when  the 
camp  was  at  rest,  the  workmen  would  all  be  "celebrat- 
ing." Burkhardt  had  reported  the  last  load  of  "south- 
ern cattle"  shipped  in  and  driven  on  the  range  the 
previous  evening — a  seemingly  innocent  statement  that 
Sorenson  understood  perfectly.  Up  in  the  hills,  safely 
hidden  in  the  timber,  lay  the  fifty  men  brought  from 
Mexico  to  make  the  assault  on  the  dam  the  next  night, 
men  whose  instruments  of  destruction  would  be  fire  and 
dynamite.  Twenty-four  hours  more  would  bring  the 
moment  of  action. 

Ignorant  of  all  this  Ed  Sorenson  had  been  forming  a 
little  individual  scheme  that  would  promote  his  own 
affairs,  chief  of  which  was  to  win  Janet  Hosmer.  Drink- 
ing heavily  ever  since  his  rebuff,  he  had  sunk  into  a  con- 
dition of  evil  determination  and  recklessness  that  made 
him  fit  for  any  desperate  act.  After  much  meditation 
fed  by  whisky,  he  had  evolved  a  plan  that  would  bring 
him  success.  Thereupon  he  had  loaded  his  car  with  a 
quantity  of  selected  stuff  and  made  a  mysterious  jour- 
ney at  night. 

"She'll  learn  I  meant  business,"  was  his  frequent  so* 
liloquy. 

And  while  these  strands  were  being  knit  into  the  skein 
Martinez  was  producing  another.  Quietly,  carefully, 
persuasively,  he  had  been  pursuing  his  own  particular 
course  of  eliciting  history  for  use  in  his  "Chronicle,"  as 
he  named  it, — and  for  another  use  concerning  which  he 
was  as  still  as  death. 

That  he  was  successful  in  obtaining  what  he  had  been 
after  was  made  known  to  Weir  about  dusk  that  evening 
while  he  was  talking  with  Pollock  in  his  office.  But  that 
he  had  not  been  so  lucky  in  covering  his  tracks  was  like- 
wise apparent. 


134     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

The  telephone  rang.     Steele  took  down  the  receiver. 

"See  Janet  Hosmer  at  once,"  Felipe  Martinez'  terri- 
fied voice  came  over  the  wire.  "Shell  have  it,  the  paper 
• — the  one  you  want.  They've  learned  I  got  it;  they're 
after  me  now.  Hammering  on  the  door.  If  you  don't 
hurry " 

Kis  words  ceased  abruptly  in  an  anguished  quaver. 
At  the  same  time  Weir  heard  carried  to  him  the  sound 
of  a  crash  as  of  a  door  smashed.  Excusing  himself  hur- 
riedly, Steele  Weir  seized  his  holster  from  a  nail  and 
buckled  on  the  belt.  Then  snatching  his  hat,  he  ran 
outside  the  building  to  his  car. 

"Now,  who  is  he  gunning  for?"  Pollock  asked  himself 
aloud,  "I  rather  wish  he  had  invited  me  along." 

But  neither  he  nor  Weir  himself,  nor  any  soul  in  San 
Mateo,  knew  that  at  last  the  furious  torrent  of  events 
had  burst  upon  the  community.  Weir  sensed  something. 
But  Sorenson  brooding  on  the  morrow  thought  the  mo- 
ment had  not  yet  come.  His  son  was  occupied  with  his 
own  treacherous  scheme.  Even  Vorse  and  Burkhardt 
smashing  their  way  into  Martinez'  office  saw  nothing 
beyond  the  immediate  necessity.  Yet  the  flood  was 
bearing  down  on  all. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

OLD  SAUREZ'  DEPOSITION 

IN  order  to  understand  why  Vorse  and  Borkhardt 
were  attacking  Martinez'  office  it  is  necessary  to  trace  the 
lawyer's  movements  and  the  incidents  which  precipitated 
that  act.  Martinez  had,  as  stated,  not  been  idle.  Fol- 
lowing the  clue  obtained  from  the  woman  who  had  worked 
in  the  elder  Weir's  household,  he  visited  the  old  Mexican 
named  as  having  been  used  as  roustabout  by  Vorse  in 
early  days.  This  was  old  Saurez,  whom  he  knew.  The 
wrinkled  old  fellow  seldom  came  to  town  now,  spending 
most  of  the  time  sitting  against  the  sunny  side  of  his 
son's  house  on  Pina  Creek,  twenty  miles  south,  where 
he  lived. 

Martinez  in  the  ten  days  that  had  elapsed  since  in- 
forming Weir  he  had  learned  of  Saurez'  possible  knowl- 
edge of  the  past  had  proceeded  to  make  himself  agree- 
able to  the  gray-headed  old  man.  He  had  explained  his 
"history."  He  exercised  all  the  arts  of  graciousness  and 
flattery.  Beginning  at  the  present  he  worked  back 
through  the  past  to  the  killing  of  Jim  Dent  and  the 
flight  of  Joseph  Weir,  extracting  tales  of  early  fights, 
raids,  accidents,  big  storms,  violent  deaths  and  killings, 
making  elaborate  notes,  winning  the  narrator's  confi- 
dence and  gradually  drawing  forth  the  facts  he  really 
sought. 

Out  of  all  the  rambling  talk  and  vague  accounts  of  the 
Dent  and  Weir  affair  Martinez  was  able  to  piece  to- 

135 


136     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

gether  the  fragments  in  a  clear  statement.  This  was 
that  Saurez  had  seen  Weir  and  Dent  in  Vorse's  saloon. 
The  pair  had  gambled  for  a  time  with  Vorse,  Burkhardt 
(at  that  time  sheriff),  Sorenson  and  Judge  Gordon. 
After  losing  for  a  time  Weir  refused  to  continue  in  the 
poker  game,  although  he  was  drunk.  Dent  played  on 
notwithstanding  Weir's  urgence  to  desist;  he  had  al- 
ready lost  all  his  money  and  began  staking  his  cattle 
and  finally  his  ranch.  At  this  stage  Weir  had  gone  to 
sleep  at  another  table,  with  his  head  on  his  arms.  Vorse 
had  locked  the  front  door  to  keep  out  visitors  during 
the  big  game.  But  the  back  door  remained  open  for 
air. 

Saurez  had  busied  himself  cleaning  the  bar.  All  at 
once  he  saw  the  players  spring  up  in  their  game,  Dent 
talking  angrily  about  cheating,  marked  cards  and  so 
on.  Then  the  guns  came  out  when  he  pointed  at  a  card 
that  was  marked — for  it  had  been  marked  with  pin- 
pricks as  Saurez  saw  later  on  examining  the  deck,  which 
Dent  had  perceived  in  spite  of  the  whisky  in  him.  And 
Sorenson  and  Vorse  had  both  shot  him  where  he  stood. 
Yes,  shootings  were  not  uncommon.  Every  one  but  he, 
Saurez,  had  likely  forgotten  all  about  the  matter.  That 
was  long  ago. 

Afterwards  Vorse  had  sent  the  Mexican  away  for 
something  or  other,  with  an  injunction  to  keep  his  mouth 
closed.  As  said,  speaking  of  it  now  made  no  difference, 
though  he  expected  Martinez  to  keep  his  promise  to  pub- 
lish none  of  the  stories  while  he  was  still  alive ;  that  was 
agreed.  When  the  Mexican  had  left  the  saloon  Weir 
was  yet  sleeping,  having  only  raised  his  head  at  the 
pistol  shots  to  stare  drunkenly  and  then  relapse.  What 
occurred  afterwards  Saurez  did  not  know.  Weir  left 
the  country.  Dent  was  buried,  the  story  being  told 


OLD  SAUREZ'  DEPOSITION      137 

that  he  had  committed  suicide.  Every  one  believed  it: 
had  he  not  lost  his  ranch  at  poker?  That  was  the  end 
of  the  business.  Other  affairs  happened  and  it  was  for- 
gotten. 

On  this  Saturday  Martinez  had  persuaded  Saurez  to 
accompany  him  to  San  Mateo.  It  would  be  necessary 
to  sign  the  stories,  he  explained  lightly,  to  give  them 
proper  weight  and  in  order  that  when  the  book  was  pub- 
lished after  Saurez'  death  they  would  be  seen  to  be  true 
accounts,  with  Saurez'  picture  that  a  photographer 
would  make  appearing  in  the  middle.  He,  Saurez,  would 
be  famous,  and  his  sons  and  grandsons  would  have  copies 
of  the  book  in  their  houses  to  show  visitors  and  the 
priest.  Ah,  it  would  be  well  to  have  the  priest  witness 
Saurez'  signature,  then  sceptical  people  would  know  in- 
deed that  the  stories  were  Saurez'  own  accounts.  So  on 
and  so  on. 

The  matter  required  infinite  precautions,  patience, 
skill  on  the  lawyer's  part.  He  had  prepared  two  or 
three  dozen  depositions  of  events,  as  a  husk  for  the  real 
kernel.  With  Saurez  in  his  office  at  last  he  telephoned 
the  priest  to  call  at  once  and  unostentatiously  caught 
on  the  street  four  other  Mexicans  of  the  better  class, 
bringing  them  in.  When  the  priest  arrived  he  closed 
the  door  and  explained  his  desire  they  should  act  as 
witnesses  to  Saurez'  statements.  He  had  already  solicited 
the  padre's  advice  as  to  the  history ;  the  others  all  had 
heard  of  it;  he  gave  them  a  number  of  the  most  harm- 
less depositions  to  read ;  and  set  Saurez  to  work  making 
his  mark  on  the  rest  of  the  papers.  During  the  reading 
and  the  accompanying  lively  discussion  of  the  witnesses, 
he  had  them  pause  to  witness  Saurez'  mark  with  their 
own  names  in  the  places  provided.  About  the  tenth  de- 
position when  their  attention  was  confused  and  flagging 


he  slipped  the  account  concerning  Weir  and  Dent,  a 
many-paged  attestation,  upon  the  table,  so  folded  that 
nothing  but  the  signing  space  was  visible.  It  was  the 
critical  instant  for  Martinez;  his  thin  body  was  more 
nervous  than  ever,  his  eyes  brighter  and  more  restless. 
But  at  last  the  ordeal  was  over. 

Saurez'  heavy  black  cross  was  at  the  bottom  of  the 
important  deposition,  the  priest  and  the  other  four 
men  had  appended  their  names,  and  all  that  remained 
to  do  was  for  Martinez  to  fill  out  the  acknowledgment 
and  affix  his  seal.  He  whisked  the  document  behind  his 
back  and  called  attention  to  a  humorous  episode  in  a 
paper  one  of  the  men  still  held,  starting  a  laugh.  Then 
he  suggested  they  rest  and  opened  a  bottle  of  wine,  over 
which  the  others  congratulated  Saurez  and  Martinez 
and  predicted  a  wonderful  fame  for  the  "Chronicle." 
Finally  the  lawyer  perceived,  as  he  said,  that  Saurez 
was  weary.  Anyway,  it  was  supper-time.  The  remain- 
ing papers  could  be  signed  another  day. 

The  witnesses  departed,  much  pleased  with  the  affair. 

"Walk  up  and  down  outside  for  a  little  time  while  I 
straighten  the  sheets,  then  we'll  go  eat  and  afterwards 
111  drive  you  home  to  bed,"  the  attorney  said.  "The 
fresh  air  will  give  you  an  appetite.  Behold,  you're  al- 
ready becoming  a  famous  man!  I  shall  preserve  these 
documents  safely  as  they  are  tremendously  important 
to  our  town,  our  state,  our  country !"  And  a  grandilo- 
quent gesture  accompanied  the  words.  "Come  back  in 
a  little  while,  my  friend,  then  we'll  see  how  much  food 
you  can  hide  away." 

Saurez  much  gratified  at  these  words  and  at  every- 
thing went  out  slowly,  for  he  was  troubled  by  rheuma- 
tism. The  instant  his  back  disappeared  Martinez  sprang 
to  the  table,  swiftly  filled  out  the  acknowledgment  of  the 


OLD  SAUREZ'  DEPOSITION      133 

old  man's  signature  to  the  Weir  document,  clapped  the 
page  under  the  seal  and  pressed  home  the  stamp.  Then 
pushing  the  folded  statement  into  an  envelope  and  that 
into  his  pocket,  he  leaned  back  with  a  sigh  of  exhaustion. 
The  thing  was  accomplished  at  last,  but  the  strain  had 
been  great.  Weir's  command  to  secure  evidence  had 
been  obeyed.  Only  the  promise  to  await  Saurez'  death 
troubled  Martinez,  and  with  a  convenient  sophistry  he 
decided  that  an  agreement  not  to  print  the  narrative 
in  a  book  did  not  extend  to  using  it  in  court.  Weir 
would  be  delighted — it  was  a  famous  coup. 

How  long  Martinez  sat  reveling  in  this  well-earned 
satisfaction  he  was  unaware,  until  with  a  start  he  glanced 
at  his  watch.  Three-quarters  of  an  hour  had  passed. 
He  went  out  to  look  for  Saurez.  But  he  was  not  in  sight 
and  though  several  persons  had  seen  him  they  could 
not  say  where  he  had  gone.  Martinez  went  again  into 
his  office.  When  another  half-hour  had  drifted  by  he 
decided  the  old  man  had  encountered  friends  and  either 
caught  a  ride  home  or  gone  with  one  to  supper.  So 
Martinez  proceeded  to  his  own  meal. 

Yet  he  was  pervaded  by  an  unaccountable  uneasiness. 
The  sun  had  set  in  a  bank  of  clouds  and  night  was  not 
far  off.  He  made  another  search  for  the  old  Mexican, 
inquiring  here  and  there,  until  he  was  informed  by  one 
that  he  had  seen  Saurez  in  Vorse's  saloon  talking  with 
Vorse  and  sipping  a  glass  of  brandy.  That  was  half 
an  hour  before.  A  chill  of  fear  spread  over  the  law- 
yer's skin. 

Determined,  however,  to  learn  the  worst,  he  stole  to 
the  saloon  and  peered  over  the  slatted  door.  The  Mexi- 
can bar-keeper  was  wiping  a  glass ;  Vorse  was  not  in 
sight ;  and — ha !  there  was  Saurez  himself  drowsing  by  a 


140     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

table.  Martinez  slipped  in  and  made  his  way  to  the 
rear. 

"Come;  time  to  go  home,"  he  said  softly,  giving  the 
old  Mexican's  shoulder  a  shake.  This  did  not  arouse 
the  sleeper,  so  he  added  force  to  his  hand,  at  which  the 
other  sagged  forward  limply. 

Martinez  jumped  back.  Next  he  stood  quite  still, 
staring.  Then  he  approached  and  lifting  the  drooping 
head,  gazed  at  the  wrinkled  face  and  glazed  eyes. 

"Miguel,  come  here!"  he  exclaimed,  anxiously. 
"Saurez  is  dead." 

"Dead !"  The  bar-keeper  ran  to  the  spot,  eyes  large 
with  alarm  and  excitement.  "Dios,  I  thought  him 
asleep!  See,  there  is  the  glass  in  which  I  gave  him 
brandy  at  Senor  Vorse's  order.  The  old  one  said  he 
had  come  in  to  pay  a  little  visit  to  his  old  employer 
and  have  a  chat.  They  talked  for  some  time." 

"Was  Vorse  asking  him  questions?" 

"Yes.  I  think  Saurez  was  telling  him  how  he  hap- 
pened to  be  in  town.  I  paid  little  attention  to  them, 
however.  After  a  while  I  glanced  up  and  saw  Vorse 
standing  by  him.  They  were  not  talking.  Then  Vorse 
came  away  and  said  the  old  man  had  fallen  asleep,  and 
he  went  out  to  supper." 

Martinez  again  lifted  the  head  and  darted  glances 
over  the  dead  man's  breast.  There  were  no  wounds,  but 
on  the  shriveled  brown  throat  he  saw  what  might  have 
been  a  thumb-mark.  He  could  not  be  sure,  yet  that  was 
his  guess. 

"He  was  an  old  man,"  Miguel  remarked. 

"Yes.  You  should  notify  his  son  and  also  the  under- 
taker, so  the  body  can  be  taken  care  of.  I'll  telephone 
the  latter  too  when  I  reach  my  office." 

This  Martinez  did,  informing  Saurez's  family  that 


OLD  SAUREZ'  DEPOSITION      141 

the  old  man  had  died  while  apparently  asleep  at  Vorse's, 
and  expressed  his  sympathy  and  sorrow. 

One  feature  of  the  case  he  instantly  perceived;  he 
was  released  from  any  obligation  to  keep  silent  regard- 
ing the  old  man's  declaration.  Fortunate  was  he  to 
have  obtained  it  before  Vorse  had  got  wind  of  his  pur- 
pose. At  the  thought  of  Vorse  he  arose  and  locked 
both  front  and  back  doors  of  the  building,  pulled  down 
the  window  shades  and  turned  out  the  light. 

It  was  almost  dark  by  now.  In  the  darkness  he  felt 
safer.  Any  one  passing  would  suppose  him  away.  Per- 
haps he  should  spend  the  night  elsewhere — at  the  dam, 
for  instance.  Again  the  same  shudder  shook  his  frame 
that  he  had  experienced  on  seeing  the  mark  on  Saurez' 
throat.  Vorse  had  killed  the  old  Mexican,  of  that  he 
was  convinced.  With  his  tongue  made  garrulous  by 
brandy  and  by  the  presence  of  his  old  employer  the  old 
man  had  doubtless  related  everything  that  occurred 
between  him  and  Martinez ;  and  the  vulture-like,  bald- 
headed  saloon-keeper,  recognizing  that  he  had  been  un- 
consciously betrayed  had  immediately  acted  to  close 
this  witness'  lips  forever  against  a  second  utterance. 

Martinez  himself  was  in  danger.  The  perspiration 
dampened  his  face  as  he  realized  that  as  far  as  he  was 
concerned  the  die  was  cast.  He  must  fling  in  his  for- 
tunes with  Weir  to  the  utmost.  He  would  first  stand  in 
defense  on  his  right  as  a  lawyer  to  secure  evidence  for 
a  client,  but  if  this  failed — and  what  rights  would  Vorse 
halt  for? — he  must  depend  upon  the  paper.  Once  they 
had  that,  they  would  speedily  put  him  out  of  the  way  as 
they  had  done  Saurez.  But  if  they  had  it  not,  they 
would  at  least  hesitate  to  wreak  their  vengeance  until 
they  could  get  it  into  their  possession.  He  must  place 
it  in  Weir's  hands  at  once,  then  if  questioned  refuse  to 


142     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

inform  them  of  its  whereabouts.  Perhaps  they  would 
try  to  seize  it  some  time  this  night.  He  stood  up,  lighted 
the  lamp,  saw  that  all  was  well  in  the  office  and  took  his 
hat. 

A  peremptory  knock  sounded  on  the  door  of  the  rear 
room. 

"Open  up  there,  Martinez,"  a  voice  commanded. 

He  stole  thither,  listened. 

"Who  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"Never  mind.  Open  this  idoor  or  I'll  pull  it  down," 
came  in  hoarse  tones  he  recognized  as  Burkhardt's.  The 
man,  or  men,  outside  had  chosen  the  rear  to  force  an  en- 
trance if  necessary,  where  there  would  be  no  spectators. 
"Jerk  it  open  quick,"  Burkhardt  continued  savagely. 
"We  want  you."  Then  again,  "We  knew  you  were 
there,  though  you  kept  the  place  dark.  Move  lively  be- 
fore I  use  this  ax." 

Never  did  Martinez'  mind  work  more  rapidly.  Like- 
wise his  eyes  darted  everywhere  in  search  of  the  object 
he  needed.  Then  he  glided  to  a  decrepit  arm-chair  and 
turning  it  over  stuffed  the  document  in  a  rent  in  its 
padded  seat,  out  of  sight  underneath.  Next  he  filled  his 
pockets  with  other  papers  signed  by  Saurez.  Last,  he 
hastily  tore  open  the  little  telephone  book  and  ran  a 
forefinger  down  the  H's. 

"Doctor  Hosmer's,  hurry,"  he  exclaimed.  "Number 
F28." 

Blows  were  already  sounding  on  the  rear  door,  but 
the  lock  was  strong  and  resisted.  Of  all  the  persons  he 
knew  Janet  Hosmer  was  the  only  one  he  could  trust  to 
keep  her  word.  And  he  dare  not  wait  until  Weir  could 
come. 

"Is  this  you,  Janet?  Martinez  talking,"  he  said,  when 
he  heard  her  answer.  "Listen.  I'm  at  my  office;  men 


are  trying  to  break  in  to  get  a  paper  valuable  for  Mr. 
Weir's  defense.  They  must  not  get  it.  He's  to  be  ar- 
rested and  tried  for  murder  of  the  man  he  killed.  You 
and  I  know  he's  innocent.  This  is  a  life  and  death 
matter.  The  paper  is  hidden  in  the  old  chair.  The  men 
are  breaking  down  the  door.  I'll  get  them  away  long 
enough  for  you  to  come  and  obtain  it.  Give  it  to  Weir 
— at  once,  to-night,  immediately.  Promise  me  you  will, 
promise!  My  own  life  probably  hangs  on  it.  Return 
to  your  house  and  stay  for  half  an  hour  and  if  he  hasn't 
arrived  by  that  time,  go  to  the  dam.  Thank  you,  thank 
you — from  my  heart !  Start  now." 

The  words  had  tumbled  out  in  an  agitated  stream, 
occupying  but  a  few  seconds.  The  panels  were  splint- 
ering in  the  door  now,  as  the  ax  smashed  a  way  through. 
Martinez  had  no  need  to  look  up  Weir's  number;  and  it 
was  in  a  strain  of  terror  and  excitement  that  he  waited 
for  the  connection. 

"See  Janet  Hosmer  at  once,"  he  shot  at  the  engineer, 
followed  by  the  rest  of  the  warning  already  quoted  which 
had  so  electrifying  an  effect  upon  Steele  Weir. 

But  the  words  had  broken  off  abruptly.  For  as  the 
door  crashed  off  its  hinges  Martinez  dropped  the  tele- 
phone receiver  and  darted  for  the  front  entrance,  shoot- 
ing back  the  bolt  and  flinging  it  open.  He  almost 
plunged  into  Vorse  who  was  on  guard  there. 

"Stand  still,"  the  man  ordered.  And  Martinez  kept 
the  spot  as  if  congealed,  for  in  the  saloon-keeper's  hand 
was  a  revolver  with  an  exceedingly  large  muzzle. 

Burkhardt  burst  in,  ax  still  in  hand,  eyes  bloodshot 
with  rage.  Vorse  turned  and  closed  the  front  door. 
Then  he  glanced  over  the  lawyer's  table  and  ran  a  hand 
into  his  inside  coat  pocket  bulging  with  documents.  He 
glanced  through  one  or  two. 


144,    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Here's  what  we're  after,"  said  he.  "We'll  take  him 
to  my  place  where  we  can  quietly  settle  the  matter." 
His  eyes  rested  on  tha  Mexican  with  ominous  meaning. 

"Come  along,  you  snake,"  Burkhardt  growled,  seizing 
their  prisoner's  arm.  "Out  the  back  way — and  keep 
your  mouth  shut.  Don't  try  to  make  a  break  of  any 
kind,  if  you  know  what's  best  for  you." 

Martinez'  yellow  skin  was  almost  white. 

"But,  gentlemen,  what  does  this  all  mean?"  he  began, 
endeavoring  to  pull  back. 

"You'll  learn  soon  enough." 

"Step  right  along,"  Vorse  added.  "Take  him  away, 
Burkhardt,  then  I'll  blow  out  this  light." 

With  no  further  word  Martinez  accompanied  his  cap- 
tors into  the  gloom  of  the  night.  They  moved  in  silence 
through  the  dark  space  behind  the  row  of  store  build- 
ings. The  lawyer  felt  that  at  least  the  way  was  clear 
for  Janet  Hosmer. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  MASK  DROPPED 

WHEN  Janet  Hosmer,  startled  by  Felipe  Martinez* 
agitated  appeal,  turned  from  the  telephone,  her  single 
thought  was  to  carry  out  on  the  instant  his  fervid  in- 
junction. Something  aimed  at  the  engineer  and  the 
lawyer  was  in  movement,  a  plot  for  the  former's  arrest 
and  the  destruction  of  evidence  necessary  to  his  defense, 
according  to  Martinez'  quick  hurried  words;  and  the 
Mexican  now  sought  her  aid,  as  she  was  the  only  one 
within  reach  whom  he  could  trust.  That  he  must  call 
to  her  showed  the  desperate  nature  of  the  exigency — 
and  he  had  said  lives  were  at  stake ! 

Haste  was  the  imperative  need.  As  her  father  was 
absent,  she  summoned  the  Mexican  girl  from  the  kitchen, 
for  instinct  advised  the  wisdom  of  having  a  companion 
on  this  errand;  and  the  two  of  them,  bare-headed  and 
walking  fast,  set  out  for  the  house.  Dusk  was  just 
thickening  to  night.  No  stars  were  visible.  A  warm 
moistness  in  the  air  forewarned  of  rain  from  the  blanket 
of  clouds  that  had  spread  at  sunset  along  the  peaks. 
Indeed,  a  few  fine  globules  of  water  touched  their  faces 
as  they  came  into  the  main  street  and  hurried  along. 

Neither  girl  had  observed  the  automobile,  unlighted 
and  moving  slowly,  that  approached  the  Hosmer  house 
as  they  emerged.  Apparently  the  driver  perceiving  them 
against  the  lamplight  of  the  doorway  and  noting  their 
departure  thought  better  of  bringing  the  car  to  a  halt, 

145 


146    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

for  he  kept  the  machine  in  motion  and  as  quietly  as 
possible  trailed  the  pair  by  glimpses  of  their  figures 
flitting  before  an  occasional  illuminated  window.  When 
Janet  and  her  companion  turned  into  the  main  street 
where  the  stores  were  lighted  his  task  became  easier. 

The  street  was  peaceful.  Janet  saw  no  evidence  of 
the  violence  or  danger  indicated  by  the  Mexican  lawyer's 
declaration,  but  she  was  too  sensible  to  imagine  on  that 
account  that  peril  did  not  exist.  The  town  was  not 
aware  of  what  had  occurred,  that  was  all, — not  yet. 
The  chief  actors  in  the  conspiracy  were  still  moving 
stealthily  against  their  intended  victims ;  they  had 
pounced  on  Martinez  and  once  they  had  seized  the  evi- 
dence they  sought  they  would  arrest  Weir.  Afterwards 
the  people,  as  she  guessed  the  matter,  would  be  aroused 
to  create  a  strong  sentiment  against  the  helpless  men. 
It  was  an  atrocious  business. 

But  as  yet  things  were  in  a  lull — and  it  was  during 
this  pause,  brief,  critical,  that  Martinez  expected  her 
to  act.  That  mudh  she  had  grasped  from  his  hurried 
words.  She  reached  his  office  and  halted  to  listen.  No 
gleam  came  from  the  building,  nor  from  the  low  struc- 
ture on  either  side,  and  across  the  way  all  was  dark — • 
dark  as  it  had  been  that  night  when  the  assassin's  shot 
had  been  fired  at  Steele  Weir.  Repressing  a  shudder, 
she  bade  the  Mexican  girl  follow  her,  groped  for  the 
door  knob,  found  it  and  pushed  the  door  open. 

Martinez  had  spoken  of  men  forcing  an  entrance,  so 
it  must  have  been  at  the  rear.  Inside  all  was  pitchy 
black. 

"Juanita,  you  have  a  match  in  your  pocket,  haven't 
you?"  she  demanded,  anxiously. 

"Yes,  Miss  Janet." 

"Strike  it,  then." 


THE  MASK  DROPPED  147 

In  the  pent  stillness  of  the  dark  office  Janet  could 
hear  the  Mexican  girl  fumbling  in  the  pocket  of  her 
gingham  dress.  There  came  a  scratching  sound  and  a 
tiny  flame. 

"Be  careful  of  it,"  she  warned.  "Now  give  it  to  me. 
And  close  the  door." 

Janet  lighted  the  smoky  lamp  resting  on  the  table, 
next  took  it  up  in  her  hand.  A  few  papers  had  fallen 
upon  the  floor.  The  room  was  still  strong  with  fresh 
cigarette  smoke.  Martinez  could  not  have  been  gone 
more  than  five  minutes. 

And  in  another  five  minutes'  time  too  Martinez'  cap- 
tors might  be  back  again! 

Holding  the  lamp  aloft  she  peered  about  for  an  old 
chair,  her  heart  beating  rapidly,  her  lips  compressed. 
But  all  the  chairs,  the  three  or  four  in  the  room,  were 
old.  Her  eyes  encountered  the  Mexican  girl  staring 
open-mouthed  and  scared. 

"Take  the  lamp  and  keep  by  me,"  Janet  ordered. 
<eDon?t  upset  it.  What  are  you  shaking  for,  you 
ninny  ?" 

"I  can't  help  it — and  you're  so  white,"  the  other 
whimpered. 

"Never  you  mind  me ;  do  as  I  say." 

Janet  swiftly  went  from  one  chair  to  another,  turn- 
ing them  about,  upside  down,  all  ways.  No  paper  was 
hidden  in  or  under  any  one  of  them,  or  indeed  was  there 
space  capable  of  holding  a  document.  At  last  she  gave 
up,  gazing  about  in  dismay,  dread,  tears  of  vexation 
and  anxiety  almost  rising  to  her  lids.  Only  one  conclu- 
sion was  to  be  drawn:  the  men  who  had  seized  the  law- 
yer had  found  the  paper  in  spite  of  his  precaution. 

She  examined  the  chairs  a  second  time  feverishly,  for 
time  was  flying. 


148    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

"I  can't  find  it,  Juanita,  the  paper  he  telephoned  me 
to  come  and  get,"  she  exclaimed. 

"Maybe  it's  in  there  where  he  sleeps."  And  the  Mexi- 
can girl  pointed  at  the  inner  door  standing  barely  ajar. 

"We'll  see." 

Janet  led  the  way  within.  There  was  Martinez*  liv- 
ing- and  sleeping-room.  The  furnishings  comprised  a 
bed,  an  old  scratched  bureau,  a  stand  with  wash-bowl, 
a  red  and  black  Navajo  blanket  on  the  floor,  a  trunk, 
a  stool  and  a  dilapidated  stuffed  chair — just  such  a 
chair  as  a  paper  could  be  hidden  in.  That  into  this 
room  the  lawyer's  assailants  had  burst  their  way  was 
apparent  from  the  splintered  door  hanging  from  one 
hinge  at  the  rear. 

Beckoning  Juanita  to  bring  the  lamp,  Janet  ran  to 
the  arm-chair. 

"Ah,  here  it  is!"  she  cried,  when  she  had  turned  the 
piece  of  furniture  over  and  inserted  her  hand  in  the 
rent.  "It  wasn't  found,  after  all !  Come  away  now." 

Relief  and  exultation  replaced  her  depression  of  the 
moment  before.  She  had  succeeded;  she  had  helped  the 
lawyer  outwit  his  enemies ;  she  must  now  return  home  to 
await  Steele  Weir's  arrival,  or  if  he  failed  in  that  then 
go  to  the  dam. 

In  the  outer  room  she  bade  the  Mexican  girl  place  the 
lamp  on  the  table  once  more  and  blow  it  out.  This 
was  done.  They  groped  forward  to  the  door. 

"Follow  me  out  quietly,  Juanita,"  Janet  said.  "Only 
Mr.  Martinez  knows  we've  been  here,  and  Mr.  Weir,  the 
engineer.  See,  I'm  trusting  you.  This  is  a  very  im- 
portant paper  for  Mr.  Weir,  and  other  men  are  trying 
to  keep  it  out  of  his  hands.  So  you  must  say  nothing 
to  any  one  about  our  being  here." 

Juanita    assented   in    a    whisper.      Janet   thereupon 


THE  MASK  DROPPED  149 

opened  the  door  and  the  pair  stepped  forth.  A  faint 
hissing  sound  directly  before  them  startled  both. 
But  the  American  girl  immediately  recognized  it  for 
what  it  was,  the  faint  murmur  of  an  automobile 
engine. 

She  quietly  closed  the  office  door,  caught  her  compan- 
ion's arm  to  lead  her  away. 

"Don't  talk,"  she  whispered  in  her  ear. 

At  the  same  instant  the  beam  of  an  electric  hand  torch 
flashed  in  their  eyes,  blinding  them.  Then  as  quickly 
the  light  was  extinguished  and  a  heavy  blanket  was  flung 
over  Janet's  head.  Her  cry  was  choked  off,  but  not  that 
of  the  Mexican  girl  who  had  been  struck  by  the  corner 
of  the  cloth  and  who  heard  her  mistress  struggling  in 
the  arms  of  the  man  who  had  seized  her.  The  sound 
of  the  struggle  moved  towards  the  car  and  then  Juanita, 
paralyzed  by  fright,  was  stunned  by  a  sudden  roar  of 
the  exhaust,  a  grind  of  gears,  and  a  rush  in  the  dark- 
ness. The  automobile  had  gone,  carrying  off  Janet  Hos- 
mer  a  muffled  prisoner.  Juanita  regaining  use  of  her 
legs  fled  for  Doctor  Hosmer's  unmindful  of  the  mist 
against  her  face. 

Janet's  sensation  had  been  that  of  strangulation  and 
terror.  In  the  thick  folds  of  the  blanket,  held  and  lifted 
by  strong  arms,  all  she  could  offer  in  the  way  of  re- 
sistance was  futile  kicks.  She  had  been  jammed  into  the 
automobile  seat  and  firmly  kept  there  by  an  embrace 
while  the  car  was  being  started,  which  did  not  relax  as 
the  machine  gathered  speed.  For  some  minutes  this 
lasted,  while  she  strained  painfully  for  breath,  and  then 
she  perceived  the  car  was  stopping. 

Her  terror  increased.  What  now  would  happen? 
These  men  after  overpowering  Felipe  Martinez  had  ab- 
ducted her  in  their  determination  to  possess  themselves 


150    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

of  the  paper.  Finding  it  in  her  hand — for  she  still 
clutched  it — what  then?  Would  they  kill  her? 

The  car  was  now  completely  at  rest.  The  arm  was 
withdrawn  from  about  her ;  hands  gripped  her  hands  and 
forced  them  together ;  a  handkerchief  was  tightly  knotted 
about  her  wrists.  Afterwards  her  ankles  were  bound  by 
a  strap.  Then  the  blanket  was  lifted  from  her  form 
and  head  and  she  gasped  in  again  pure  night  air. 

"Here's  a  gag,"  said  the  man  at  her  side.  "Keep 
quiet  and  I'll  not  use  it ;  if  you  open  your  mouth  to  make 
a  sound,  I  shall.  It's  up  to  you."  And  with  the  hoarse 
threat  she  caught  the  heavy  sickening  odor  of  whiskey 
on  the  speaker's  breath. 

"You,  Ed  Sorenson!  You've  dared  to  do  this!"  she 
exclaimed,  fear  vanishing  in  anger. 

"Yes,  sweetheart,"  came  with  a  mocking  accent. 

<eUntie  me  this  minute  and  let  me  out!" 

"Oh,  no.  You've  got  the  wrong  line  on  this  little 
game.  We're  going  for  a  ride,  just  you  and  me,  as 
lovers  should." 

Janet  began  to  think  fast. 

"How  did  you  know  I  was  in  Mr.  Martinez'  office?" 
she  demanded. 

"Because  I  saw  you  go  in,  little  one.  I  was  just  pull- 
ing up  at  your  door  to  coax  you  out  when  I  saw  you  and 
the  Mexican  wench  appear.  So  I  followed  along.  Saved 
me  the  bother  of  telling  you  your  father  had  been  hurt 
in  an  accident.  He's  chasing  off  somewhere  thirty  miles 
from  town  on  a  'false  alarm*  call  to  attend  a  dying  man. 
Sorry  I  had  to  use  the  blanket;  sorry  I  have  to  keep 
your  naughty  little  hands  and  feet  tied  up.  But  it's 
the  only  way.  After  we're  married,  you'll  forget  all 
about  it  in  loving  me." 

So  this  was  the  face  of  the  matter.     Not  the  paper 


THE  MASK  DROPPED  151 

she  gripped,  but  she  herself  was  his  object.  His  abduc- 
tion of  her  had  nothing  to  do  with  Martinez'  affair;  he 
knew  nothing  of  the  larger  plot;  and  for  that  reason 
she  experienced  a  degree  of  relief. 

"I'll  never  marry  you,  be  certain  of  that,"  said  she, 
recurring  to  his  statement.  "If  anything  had  been 
needed  to  settle  that  point,  what  you  have  done  now 
would  be  enough.  You  shall  pay  for  this  atrocious 
treatment.  Untie  my  hands." 

"Oh,  no.     We're  starting  on." 

"Your  father  as  well  as  mine  shall  know  of  this." 

"I  think  not,  dearie.  We're  going  up  into  the  hills 
where  I've  a  nice  little  cabin  fixed  up.  And  we'll  stay 
there  awhile.  And  then  when  we  come  back,  you'll  not 
do  any  talking.  On  the  contrary,  you'll  be  anxious  to 
marry  me — you'll  be  begging  me  to  marry  you.  Of 
course!  People  know  we're  engaged,  and  they'll  know 
you've  been  away  with  me  for  two  or  three  days.  Do 
you  think  they'll  listen  to  any  story  about  my  carrying 
you  off  against  your  will?  They'll  wink  when  they  hear 
it.  Yes,  you'll  be  ready  to  marry  me  all  right,  all  right, 
when  we  come  back  to  San  Mateo." 

Janet's  blood  ran  cold  at  this  heartless,  black  plan 
to  ensnare  her  into  marriage. 

"Ed,  you  would  never  do  a  thing  like  that,"  she 
pleaded.  "You're  just  trying  to  scare  me  with  a  joke. 
Be  a  good  fellow  and  untie  my  hands  and  take  me 
home." 

"No  joke  about  this;  straight  business.  I  told  you 
you  should  marry  me " 

"You're  drunk  or  mad!"  she  burst  out,  terrified. 

"Neither;  perfectly  calm.  But  I'm  not  the  fellow 
to  be  tossed  over  at  a  whim.  I'm  holding  you  to  your 
word,  that's  all.  You'll  change  your  mind  back  as  it 


152     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

was  by  to-morrow;  you'll  be  crazy  to  have  me  as  a 
husband  then.  I  won't  have  to  tie  your  hands  and  feet 
to  keep  you  at  my  side  when  we  come  riding  home  to  go 
to  the  minister's.  Now  we've  had  our  little  talk  and 
understand  each  other;  and  it's  beginning  to  drizzle. 
Time  to  start  for  our  little  cabin.  The  less  fuss  you 
make,  the  pleasanter  it  will  be  for  both  of  us." 

He  set  the  gears  and  the  car  started  forward  once 
more.  A  sensation  of  being  under  the  paws  of  a  beast, 
odious  and  fetid,  savage  and  pitiless,  overwhelmed  her. 
That  this  was  no  trick  of  a  moment  but  a  calculated 
scheme  to  abase  and  possess  her  she  now  realized  with 
a  sort  of  dull  horror.  And  on  top  of  all  he  was,  despite 
his  denial,  partly  drunk. 

Through  the  terror  of  her  situation  two  thoughts  now 
continued  to  course  like  fiery  threads — one  a  hope,  one 
a  purpose.  The  former  rested  on  Juanita,  whom  in 
his  inflamed  ferocity  of  intention,  the  man  seemed  to 
have  forgotten — on  Juanita  and  Steele  Weir,  "Cold 
Steel"  Weir;  and  this  failing,  there  remained  the  lat- 
ter, a  set  idea  to  kill  herself  before  this  brute  at  her 
side  worked  his  will.  Somehow  she  could  and  would 
kill  herself.  Somehow  she  would  find  the  means  to  free 
her  hands  and  the  instrument  to  pierce  her  heart. 

Sorenson  had  switched  on  his  lights.  He  drove  the 
car  through  the  damp  darkness  at  headlong  speed  along 
the  trail  that  leaped  from  the  gloom  to  meet  them  and 
vanished  behind.  At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he 
swung  into  a  canyon ;  and  Janet  perceived  they  were  as- 
cending Terry  Creek.  He  stopped  the  car  anew. 

"I'll  just  take  no  chances  with  you,"  he  exclaimed. 
"We  have  to  pass  your  friends,  the  Johnsons,  you  know. 
Had  to  take  my  stuff  up  here  in  the  middle  of  the  night 
— up  one  night  and  back  the  next — and  mighty  still  too, 


THE  MASK  DROPPED  153 

so  that  they  wouldn't  suspicion  I  was  fixing  a  little  bower 
for  you." 

He  bound  a  cloth  over  her  mouth  and  again  flung  the 
blanket  over  her  head.  Janet  struggled  fiercely  for  a 
moment,  but  finally  sank  back  choking  and  half  in  a 
faint.  She  was  barely  conscious  of  the  car's  climbing 
again.  Though  when  passing  the  ranch  house  the  man 
drove  with  every  care  for  silence,  she  was  not  aware 
of  the  fact.  Her  breath,  mind,  soul,  were  stifled.  She 
seemed  transfixed  in  a  hideous  nightmare. 

At  length  her  lips  and  head  were  released.  But  her 
hands  and  feet  were  numb.  Still  feeling  as  if  she  were 
in  some  dreadful  dream  she  saw  the  beam  of  the  head- 
lights picking  out  the  winding  trail,  flashing  on  trees  by 
the  wayside,  shining  on  wet  rocks,  heard  the  chatter  of 
the  creek  over  stones  and  the  labor  of  the  engine. 

The  road  was  less  plain,  a  mere  track  now,  and 
steeper.  They  were  climbing,  climbing  up  the  mountain 
side,  up  into  the  heavier  timber,  up  into  one  of  the 
"parks"  among  the  peaks.  Johnson's  ranch  was  miles 
behind  and  far  below.  Occasionally  billows  of  fog 
swathed  them  in  wet  folds  that  sent  a  chill  to  Janet's 
bones. 

Sorenson  held  his  watch  down  to  the  driver's  light. 

"Ten  o'clock ;  we're  making  good  time.  Must  give  the 
engine  a  drink — and  take  one  myself." 

He  descended  to  the  creek  with  a  bucket,  bringing 
back  water  to  fill  the  steaming  radiator.  Afterwards, 
standing  in  the  light  of  the  car's  lamps,  he  tilted  a  flask 
to  his  lips  and  drank  deep. 

"Not  far  now;  three  or  four  miles.  But  it's  slow 
going.  Have  to  make  it  on  'low',"  said  he,  swinging 
himself  up  into  his  place. 

Janet  held  her  face  turned  away.     She  was  thinking 


154     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

of  Juanita  and  Steele  Weir.  Had  the  girl  gone  home 
again?  Or,  terrified,  had  she  run  to  her  own  home  and 
said  nothing?  Had  the  engineer  come  and  waited  and 
learning  nothing  at  last  returned  to  the  dam?  Despair 
filled  her  breast.  Even  should  the  Mexican  girl  have 
apprised  him  of  the  kidnapping,  how  should  he  know 
where  to  follow?  And  in  the  solitude  of  the  wet  dark 
mountains  all  about  her  hope  died. 

She  began  desperately  to  tug  against  the  handkerchief 
binding  her  wrists. 

Suddenly  the  going  became  easier  and  she  felt  rather 
than  saw  that  the  trees  had  thinned.  A  flash  of  the  car 
lamps  at  a  curve  in  the  trail  showed  a  great  glistening 
wall  of  rock  towering  overhead,  then  this  was  passed 
and  the  way  appeared  to  lead  into  a  grassy  open  space. 
A  dark  shape  beside  the  road  loomed  into  view — a  cabin 
by  a  clump  of  pine  trees.  Sorenson  brought  the  car  to 
a  stop  a  few  yards  from  the  house. 

"Here  at  last,"  he  announced,  springing  down. 

He  unstrapped  her  feet,  bade  her  get  out. 

"I  make  a  last  appeal  to  your  decency  and  manhood 
— if  you  have  either,"  she  said,  sitting  motionless. 

"Rot,"  he  answered.  Half  dragging  her,  half  lifting 
her,  he  removed  her  from  the  machine.  Slipping  a  hand 
within  her  arm  he  led  her  inside  the  log  house. 

"Sit  there,"  he  ordered. 

Janet  dropped  upon  the  seat,  a  rude  plank  bench 
against  the  wall  farthest  from  the  door.  Indeed,  fatigue 
and  the  numbness  of  her  limbs  rendered  her  incapable 
of  standing. 

"When  I've  touched  off  this  fire  and  set  out  some 
grub,  then  I'll  untie  your  hands,"  he  continued.  "A 
snug  little  cabin,  eh?  Just  the  place  for  us,  what?  See 
all  the  stuff  I've  brought  up  here  to  make  you  warm  and 


THE  MASK  DROPPED  155 

happy  and  comfortable.  Regular  nest.  Lot  of  work  on 
my  part,  I  want  to  say." 

He  touched  a  match  to  the  wood  already  laid  in  the 
fire-place,  flung  off  his  rain  coat  and  stood  to  warm  his 
hands  at  the  blaze.  Lighting  a  cigarette,  he  began 
placing  from  a  box  of  supplies  plates  and  food  on  the 
table  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  but  paused  to  reproduce 
his  flask.  With  a  sardonic  grin  he  lifted  the  bottle, 
bowed  to  Janet  and  drank  the  liquor  neat.  When  he  had 
finished,  he  turned  the  bottle  upside  down  to  show  it  was 
empty,  then  tossed  it  into  a  corner.  Again  he  fixed  his 
drunken,  mocking  smile  upon  her. 

"Can't  preach  to  me  about  booze  here,  can  you, 
honey?"  he  said.  "Ought  to  take  a  swallow  yourself; 
warm  you  up.  I  have  plenty.  Guess  I  better  untie  your 
hands  now."  He  advanced  towards  her,  swaying 
slightly.  "You're  going  to  love  me  from  this  time  on, 
ain't  you,  girlie?"  He  untied  the  handkerchief  and 
dropped  it  at  his  feet.  "No  nonsense  now  about  trying 
to  get  away ;  I'll  rope  you  for  good  if  you  try  to  start 
anything.  Hello,  what's  that?" 

"No ;  give  it  to  me !"  she  cried,  in  alarm  as  he  pulled 
the  folded  sheets  of  paper  from  her  stiffened  fingers. 

"Something  I  ought  to  see,  maybe."  Then  he  added 
harshly,  "Sit  down,  if  you  don't  care  to  have  me  teach 
you  a  thing  or  two.  I'm  master  here." 

He  stepped  to  the  table  and  drawing  a  box  beside  him 
settled  upon  it,  pulled  the  candle-stick  nearer  and  began 
to  read  the  document.  Janet  glanced  swiftly  about  the 
room  for  a  weapon.  Escape  past  him  she  could  not,  for 
by  a  single  spring  he  could  bar  the  way ;  but  could  she 
lay  hand  on  a  stick  of  wood  she  might  fight  her  way  out. 
None  was  nearer  than  the  fire,  and  again  he  could  in- 
terpose. 


156     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

He  read  on  and  on,  with  a  darkening  brow  and  an 
evil  glint  showing  in  his  eyes.  Page  by  page  he  perused 
Saurez'  deposition  until  he  reached  the  end.  Then  he 
got  to  his  feet,  shaking  the  paper  at  her  head. 

"You  were  in  on  this,"  he  snarled.  "This  is  what  you 
were  in  Martinez'  office  to  get.  You're  wise  to  this 
cursed  scheme  to  help  Weir  make  my  father  and  Vorse 
and  Burkhardt  and  Judge  Gordon  out  a  gang  of  swind- 
lers. So  they  trimmed  his  father  of  something — at  least 
I  fancy  they  did,  and  I  hope  to  God  they  did,  the 
coward !  And  you  were  in  with  them !  You're  not  quite 
the  little  white  angel  you'd  have  people  believe,  are  you? 
Not  quite  so  innocent  and  simple  as  you've  made  me 
think,  anyway.  Well,  I'll  square  all  that.  That  slippery 
snake,  Martinez,  I'll  twist  his  neck  the  minute  I  get  back 
to  town.  I'll  bet  a  thousand  it  was  framed  up  to  use 
this  when  Weir  was  arrested — but  he'll  never  use  it 
now!" 

He  glared  at  the  girl  with  a  face  distorted  by  rage. 

"We'll  just  burn  it  here  and  now,"  he  continued. 
"Then  we'll  be  sure  it  won't  be  used." 

Janet  gripped  her  hands  tightly,  while  her  lips  opened 
to  utter  a  wild  protest  at  this  desecration.  What  the 
document  contained  she  did  not  yet  know,  except  that 
it  was  evidence  that  fixed  upon  the  men  named  guilt  for 
some  past  deed  in  which  Weir  had  suffered  and  which 
would  bring  them  to  account.  But  something  more  than 
protest  was  needed,  she  saw  in  a  flash,  to  deflect  the  man 
from  his  purpose  and  save  the  sheets  from  the  flame. 

She  shut  her  lips  for  an  instant  to  choke  the  cry,  then 
said  with  an  assumption  of  unconcern: 

"Go  ahead.  I  didn't  want  your  father  to  see  it,  in  any 
case." 

The  paper  had  almost  reached  the  candle,  but  the 


THE  MASK  DROPPED  157 

hand  that  held  it  paused.  Sorenson  stared  at  it,  and 
from  it  to  her.  At  last  a  malignant  curl  of  his  lips 
uncovered  his  teeth. 

"Oh,  you  didn't  want  him  to  see  it,"  he  sneered.  "If 
that's  so,  I'll  just  save  it.  He'll  be  interested  in  reading 
what  your  friends  have  prepared  to  destroy  his  good 
name  and  reputation." 

He  folded  the  document  and  slipped  it  into  his  inner 
coat  pocket.  Then  he  walked  towards  her.  At  the  look 
on  his  face  Janet  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"I've  changed  my  mind  about  the  marriage  matter, 
just  as  you  did,"  he  said.  "I  agree  with  you  now;  there 
won't  be  any  marriage.  But  I'll  have  your  arms  about 
my  neck  just  the  same." 

And  he  seized  her  wrist. 

"Let  me  go,  let "    The  words  ceased  on  her  lips. 

Her  eyes  were  riveted  on  the  cabin  door ;  she  scarcely 
felt  the  man's  loathsome  touch  on  her  arm.  How  had 
the  door  come  unlatched?  And  was  it  only  the  wind  that 
slowly  moved  it  open? 


CHAPTER  XVI 

WEIR  TAKES  UP  THE  HUNT 

i 

ON  leaving  the  construction  camp  Steele  Weir  had 
whirled  away  down  the  river  road  for  San  Mateo  with  a 
feeling  both  of  satisfaction  and  of  enmity — satisfaction 
at  Martinez*  success  in  at  last  having  secured  the  evi- 
dence ardently  desired,  as  betokened  by  his  words; 
enmity  at  whoever  was  laying  violent  hands  on  the 
lawyer.  Unfortunately  when  yet  half  a  mile  from  town 
his  car  suffered  one  of  the  common  misadventures  of 
automobiles: — ping-g-g!  sang  a  tire  in  a  shrill  dying 
whine. 

Weir  did  not  stop  to  change  and  inflate  the  tube,  but 
pushed  ahead  on  his  mission  though  at  slackened  speed. 
He  brought  his  car  to  rest  before  Doctor  Hosmer's 
house.  The  windows  were  lighted,  yet  at  his  knock  there 
was  no  response;  so  brushing  conventionalities  aside  he 
entered  and  called  Janet's  name.  Only  echoes  and  a 
following  silence  greeted  his  call. 

Doubtful  whether  to  remain  awaiting  the  girl's  return 
or  go  at  once  to  Martinez'  office  in  the  hope  of  still  find- 
ing her,  he  finally  chose  the  latter  course  leaving  his  car 
where  it  stood  and  proceeding  on  foot,  as  a  result  of 
which  he  passed  in  the  darkness  Juanita  hurrying  home 
in  a  fright.  A  bad  choice  and  valuable  time  lost,  he 
afterwards  discovered.  At  Martinez'  office  he  stepped 
inside,  called  the  lawyer  by  name,  called  Janet  Hosmer, 
stood  for  a  little  while  in  the  black  room  barkening  and 
thinking,  then  went  forth  into  the  street. 

158 


WEIR  TAKES  UP  THE  HUNT    159 

This  time  chance  fell  his  way.  He  had  but  come  out 
when  he  heard  footsteps  and  two  men  in  low-toned  talk 
as  they  approached;  and  he  withdrew  further  into  the 
concealing  darkness  of  the  street.  The  new  visitors, 
striking  matches  at  the  entrance,  walked  inside.  The 
men  were  Vorse  and  Burkhardt. 

"If  you  had  been  here,  we  could  have  nailed  him  at 
once  as  soon  as  I  had  Saurez*  story,"  the  former  said. 
"Martinez  had  half  an  hour  and  more  to  get  the  thing 
into  somebody  else's  hands." 

"Well,  I  was  looking  after  those  men  up  in  the  hills," 
was  the  growled  answer.  "Had  to  feed  'em  and  have 
'em  ready  for  to-morrow  night.  If  we  don't  find  the 
document  here,  we'll  screw  its  hiding-place  out  of  that 
dirty  greaser  if  we  have  to  use  a  cord  on  his  head 
Indian-fashion.  Anyway  it  ought  to  be  about  this  office. 
Martinez  didn't  know  you  had  learned  about  it  from. 
Saurez.  He'd  never  let  go  a  paper  like  that  until  he 
had  to." 

"I  think  you're  right  there,"  Vorse  said.  "He'd  want 
to  sell  it  for  all  it  was  worth.  Better  shut  and  lock  the 
door  while  we're  searching.  Don't  care  to  have  any  of 
his  friends  sticking  in  their  heads  while  we're  here." 

Burkhardt,  who  had  lighted  the  lamp,  now  closed  the 
door,  cutting  off  so  far  as  Steele  Weir  was  concerned 
both  a  view  of  the  men  and  their  conversation.  However 
he  had  learned  if  not  enough,  at  least  considerable. 
They  had  not  yet  gained  possession  of  the  paper.  They 
knew  nothing  of  Janet's  part  in  the  affair.  They  had 
so  far  not  succeeded  in  unlocking  Martinez'  lips,  but 
undoubtedly  they  would  be  able  to  wring  from  the  lawyer 
when  they  went  about  it  the  real  truth  regarding  the 
document.  Very  likely  Martinez  had  anticipated  that, 
had  known  his  powers  were  such  as  not  to  be  greatly  able 


160    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

to  resist  physical  torture  and  had  planned  to  get  the 
evidence  into  the  engineer's  hands  before  he  should  be 
subjected  to  pains  of  the  flesh.  That  would  be  remem- 
bered to  his  credit,  along  with  all  the  rest.  Where 
Martinez  was  being  held  prisoner  was  the  additional 
information  Weir  should  have  liked  to  glean  before  the 
door  was  shut. 

Postponing  for  the  time  the  hunt  along  this  line,  he 
returned  to  the  Hosmer  dwelling.  In  answer  to  his 
knock  and  call  on  this  visit  the  trembling  Juanita 
appeared,  immediately  pouring  forth  a  recital  of  the 
happenings  at  the  office  as  affecting  her  mistress. 

''You've  told  no  one  else?"  he  demanded. 

"No,  senor.  She  said  I  was  to  say  nothing  of  her 
being  there  for  the  paper,  and  I  was  waiting  for  her 
father  to  come.  But  she  informed  me  Mr.  Martinez  and 
you  knew  she  was  there,  so  I've  told  you." 

"And  you  saw  nothing  of  this  man  who  cast  the 
blanket  over  her  head  and  seized  her?" 

"It  was  dark;  we  had  just  come  out  of  the  office. 
But — but  the  car  sounded  like  Ed  Sorenson's.  I've 
heard  it  start  from  here  many  times  with  the  same  loud 
noise.  They  had  quarreled,  Senor  Weir,  and  were  no 
longer  engaged." 

"I  know.     Which  way  did  he  drive  off?" 

"East,  down  the  lower  end  of  the  street." 

"Bring  a  lamp  out  to  my  car,  so  I  can  fix  my  tire." 

With  the  girl  holding  the  light  by  his  side  the  engineer 
worker  with  concentrated  energy  in  stripping  the  wheel, 
in  inserting  a  new  tube,  replacing  the  tire  and  pumping 
it  up.  The  thin  drizzle  glistened  on  his  face,  but  for  all 
that  it  was  none  the  less  determined,  stern. 

"You  need  not  be  afraid  for  yourself;  no  one  but  us 
knows  you  were  there,"  he  said  to  her,  climbing  into  his 


WEIR  TAKES  UP  THE  HUNT    161 

machine.  "Nor  for  Miss  Janet,  either.  1*11  bring  her 
home  safely.  When  Dr.  Hosmer  returns,  tell  him  every- 
thing. Also  ask  him  to  await  our  coming.  Be  sure  and 
say  to  him  that  I'll  bring  her  home  unharmed  and  that 
I  advise  silence  in  regard  to  the  matter  until  I  have 
talked  with  him.  You  will  remain  quiet,  of  course.  This 
isn't  a  thing  to  be  gossiped  about." 

"No,  senor." 

Away  the  automobile  shot  under  the  impulsion  of  the 
gas.  Minutes,  golden  minutes,  had  been  wasted  in 
taking  up  the  pursuit  because  of  his  going  to  Martinez' 
office  and  because  of  the  flat  tire.  Sorenson  now  would 
be  miles  away  with  his  prisoner. 

Sweeping  out  of  town  with  the  car's  headlights  illum- 
inating the  road,  Steele  Weir  blessed  the  drizzling  mist 
that  dampened  the  dust  so  as  to  leave  a  tire's  imprint. 
Almost  at  once  he  picked  up  the  track,  for  not  more  than 
twenty  or  twenty-five  minutes  had  elapsed  since  Soren- 
son's  flight  and  not  even  a  horseman  had  since  been 
over  the  way. 

Though  he  knew  it  not,  the  interval  of  time  had  been 
reduced  by  the  stop  made  by  the  first  machine,  a  mile  or 
so  out  of  town,  when  the  abductor  removed  the  blanket 
from  Janet  Hosmer's  head  to  announce  his  evil  scheme. 
From  the  main  road  leading  to  Bowenville  Weir  saw  the 
car's  trail  turn  aside  into  a  mesa  track  pointing  obliquely 
for  Terry  Creek  canyon ;  and  he  suspected  that  Sorenson 
was  making  a  long  drive  northward,  skirting  the 
mountain  range  and  working  away  from  the  railroad- 
tapped  region. 

Once  he  thought  he  caught  a  flash  of  light  far  ahead 
of  him,  but  knew  this  was  an  illusion.  Through  this 
rainy  darkness  no  car's  beam,  however  powerful,  would 
show  half  a  mile.  The  mist  beat  against  his  face  in  a 


162     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

steady  stream  as  he  rushed  forward  in  the  night,  his 
eyes  immovable  on  the  wet  twin  tire-marks  stamped  on 
the  road,  his  iron  grip  on  the  wheel,  his  ears  filled  with 
the  steady  hum  of  the  engine.  If  Sorenson  had  driven 
fast,  Steele  Weir  drove  faster. 

At  Terry  Creek  he  plunged  down  the  bank,  across  the 
water  and  up  on  the  other  side  without  a  change  of 
gears,  rocking  and  lurching.  Once  on  the  smooth  trail 
again  the  car  seemed  to  stretch  itself  like  a  greyhound 
for  the  race  northward.  But  on  a  sudden  he  brought 
the  automobile  to  an  abrupt  halt.  Hie  surface  of  the 
road  was  undisturbed ;  nothing  had  passed  here. 

Swinging  back  again  on  the  way  he  had  come,  Weir 
recrossed  the  creek  and  slowly  retraced  his  course. 
Then  with  an  exclamation  of  satisfaction  he  picked  up 
the  track  where  it  turned  up  the  canyon  trail.  But  why 
was  the  man  going  to  the  Johnson  ranch?  Mystified  by 
this  baffling  procedure  on  Sorenson's  part,  he  never- 
theless headed  up  the  stream  with  no  lessening  of  his 
purpose  to  overtake  the  other. 

At  the  ranch  house,  whose  kitchen  window  was  lighted, 
he  stopped  and  leaped  out.  Johnson  and  Mary  both 
answered  his  thumping  knock. 

"Is  Janet  Hosmer  here?"  he  questioned,  while  his  eyes 
darted  about  the  kitchen.  Then  he  made  his  own  reply, 
"I  see  she's  not.  Ed  Sorenson  kidnapped  her  to-night 
and  drove  to  this  canyon.  Did  you  hear  a  car?" 

Mary  faced  her  father. 

"You  remember  I  thought  I  heard  one!"  she  cried. 
"But  the  sound  was  so  low  I  wasn't  sure,  and  when  I  went 
to  the  window  I  saw  nothing.  I  didn't  hear  it  again. 
Father  said  it  was  just  my  imagination." 

"Where  does  this  road  lead  ?" 

"Up  into  the  timber  and  to  a  'park.'    Used  to  be  an 


old  wood  road.  Sheepmen  sometimes  use  it  to  take  their 
wagons  up  above;  sometimes  cattle  outfits  too  while  on 
round-ups.'* 

"Could  an  auto  go  ahead  on  it?" 

"Yes,  I  guess  so.     By  hard  driving." 

"Then  he's  up  there." 

Weir  ran  back  to  his  car,  jumped  in. 

"Let  me  go  with  you,"  Johnson  shouted  after  him. 

"No,  I  can  handle  the  fellow,"  the  engineer  answered. 
And  again  his  machine  started  on.  "How  long  ago  was 
it  that  you  heard  him,  Mary  ?"  was  his  parting  question. 

"  'Bout  fifteen  minutes  ago,"  she  cried. 

Fifteen  minutes !  But  the  girl's  reckoning  might  be 
vague,  and  "fifteen"  minutes  be  half  an  hour.  At  any 
rate,  with  the  road  ascending  among  the  peaks 
Sorenson's  speed  would  be  greatly  diminished.  The 
incline  would  be  against  him,  the  uneven  twisting  rain- 
washed  trail  would  require  careful  driving,  the  rain 
would  hamper  his  sight.  Yet  the  fellow  he  pursued 
could  not  be  more  than  three  or  four  miles  ahead  at  most. 

On  and  on  Weir  pressed.  The  mist  thickened;  black 
wet  tree  trunks  loomed  before  him  like  ghosts  and  sank 
out  of  view  again;  the  road  wound  along  the  stream 
among  rocks  and  bushes  and  over  hillocks  with  all  the 
difficult  sinuosity  of  a  serpent's  track;  in  his  ears 
persisted  the  chuckling  talk  of  the  creek,  flowing  in 
darkness  except  when  lighted  by  his  car's  lamps  as  the 
machine  plunged  through  a  ford,  as  became  more  and 
more  frequent  with  the  ascent  and  the  narrowing  of  the 
canyon. 

Five  miles,  ten  miles,  fifteen  miles  he  must  have  come 
since  leaving  the  ranch  house.  His  car  now  was  high 
in  the  mountain  range,  running  on  low  gear,  the  engine 
working  hard  in  the  thin  air  and  against  the  steep  grade. 


164    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

He  was  not  making  more  than  five  miles  an  hour,  he 
judged,  at  this  moment.  The  radiator  was  boiling  and 
steaming  like  a  cauldron.  But  he  might  be  sure  that  if 
his  travel  was  slow,  Sorenson's  was  no  better;  the  road 
was  the  same  for  the  pursued  as  for  the  pursuer. 

At  the  end  of  another  half  hour  he  came  around  a 
ledge  of  rock,  where  the  creek  flowed  some  fifty  feet  below 
and  the  granite  wall  allowed  just  room  to  pass  in  a 
hair-pin  turn.  There  a  light  gleamed  before  him  like  a 
beacon,  a  dim  gleam  of  a  window.  It  was  perhaps  a 
hundred  yards  distant.  It  marked  the  end  of  the  trail, 
the  end  of  the  search. 

Here  was  Janet  Hosmer! 

And  he  had  come  in  time.  They  could  not  have  been 
here  long,  for  Sorenson's  tart  had  not  been  sufficient 
for  that ;  the  scoundrel  had  not  yet  recovered  his  breath 
from  his  hard  drive,  so  to  speak.  He  probably  would 
imagine  himself  safe  and  so  be  in  no  haste  to  consummate 
his  vile  plan  of  enjoying  his  helpless  victim. 

Rage  that  until  now  had  been  lying  cold  and 
implacable  in  Steele  Weir's  breast  began  to  flame  in  his 
veins  and  brain.  He  drove  his  car  paUft  the  rock  and  off 
the  trail  upon  an  open  grassy  space,  very  carefully, 
very  quietly.  Next  he  stopped  the  engine  and  put  out 
the  lights,  then  he  got  out,  felt  his  gun  in  its  holster  and 
gazed  ahead  for  an  instant. 

A  form  had  passed  and  repassed  before  the  window — 
Sorenson's  figure,  of  course.  Brute,  coward,  degenerate 
he  was,  and  to  be  dealt  with  as  such.  Not  only  as  such, 
indeed,  but  as  a  wretch  who  had  dared  to  touch  Janet 
Hosmer  against  her  will,  to  drag  her  from  her  home  to 
this  lonely  spot  by  violence  for  his  own  bestial  purposes. 

The  blood  seemed  like  to  burst  Steele  Weir's  heart. 
This  sweet,  honest,  kind-souled,  noble  girl!  Janet 


WEIR  TAKES  UP  THE  HUNT    165 

Hosmer,  so  bright-eyed  and  pure !  She,  who  had  suffered 
this  man's  hate  to  save  Martinez*  document,  who  had 
dared  peril  to  help  him,  Weir !  All  the  hunger  of  heart 
of  years,  and  all  the  stifled  affection,  now  went  out  to 
her.  He  loved  her;  the  veil  was  rent  from  his  mind  and 
he  realized  the  fact  indisputably — he  loved  Janet 
Hosmer.  And  the  great  creature  of  an  Ed  Sorenson 
had  dared  to  seize  her  with  brutal  hands ! 

Weir  broke  into  a  run.  By  instinct  he  kept  the  trail, 
though  once  or  twice  stumbling  and  once  barely  missing 
a  collision  with  a  tree.  When  he  reached  the  cabin,  he 
dropped  to  a  walk  and  crept  to  the  window,  which  was 
without  glass  or  frame,  open  to  the  night.  Peering  in 
he  perceived  Sorenson  at  the  table  reading  a  document, 
and  as  he  watched  he  had  no  need  to  be  told  this  was  the 
paper  that  so  vitally  concerned  himself. 

At  last  Sorenson  got  to  his  feet,  shaking  his  hand  at 
Janet  Hosmer  who  sat  against  the  cabin  wall  and 
beginning  to  speak.  Weir  listened  for  a  little.  Then 
he  stole  along  the  log  house  to  find  the  door. 

At  last  his  finger  touched  the  latch.  He  lifted  it 
soundlessly,  as  silently  pushed  the  door  ajar  until  there 
was  space  for  him  to  slip  in.  This  he  did.  His  mouth 
was  shut  hard,  his  eyes  watchful,  his  right  hand  was 
closed  about  the  butt  of  his  revolver  still  resting  in  the 
holster. 

Over  Sorenson's  shoulder  he  saw  Janet  Hosmer's  face, 
pale  and  drawn  but  with  a  sudden  joy  flaming  there.  If 
ever  gratitude  were  written  on  human  countenance,  it 
was  on  hers.  Gratitude — and  more!  Something  that 
sent  Steele  Weir's  blood  rushing  anew  through  his  body, 
with  hope,  with  a  song,  with  he  knew  not  what. 

Janet  suddenly  jerked  herself  free  and  stepped  back, 
her  head  held  high  and  proud. 


166    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

"You'll  never  touch  me  again,  you  coward.  Look 
behind  you,"  she  exclaimed. 

Involuntarily  Sorenson  turned  head  on  shoulder.  The 
frown  still  darkened  his  liquor-flushed  face  and  the  sneer 
yet  twisted  his  lips  so  that  his  mustache  was  drawn  back 
from  his  teeth.  Thus  he  remained  as  if  changed  to  stone. 

What  he  saw  was  the  man  he  most  dreaded,  with  a 
shadow  of  a  smile  on  his  lips,  his  figure  motionless,  his 
hand  ready,  like  an  avenging  Nemesis  from  out  of  the 
night.  A  perceptible  shudder  shook  the  fellow.  Weir  it 
was — "Cold  Steel,"  whose  counter-stroke  against  one 
man  already  had  been  swift  and  deadly,  whom  nothing 
checked  or  turned  or  terrified,  who  now  for  a  second  time 
was  plucking  away  the  fruit  of  Sorenson's  efforts,  who 
probably  on  this  occasion  would  shoot  him  outright. 

For  a  moment  Steele  Weir  regarded  him  in  silence. 
But  at  last  he  spoke  : 

"Stand  away  from  that  lady,  you  skunk !" 

Sorenson  moved  hastily  aside. 


CHAPTER  XVH 

EARTH'S  RETRIBUTION 

STEELE  WEIR  crossed  the  cabin  to  Janet's  side. 

"You  are  unhurt?"  he  asked,  his  eyes  scanning  her 
face  anxiously. 

"Yes.  And,  oh,  how  glad  I  am  you  came !"  she  cried, 
low.  "I  knew  you  would  not  fail  me  if  you  but  learned 
of  my  plight;  but  it's  wonderful  you  should  be  here  so 
soon.  I  prayed  every  minute  of  my  ride  that  Juanita 
would  find  and  tell  you." 

"I  couldn't  come  half  as  fast  as  I  wished."  His  smile 
assured  and  cheered  her.  Then  as  his  glance  fell  on  her 
wrists,  still  red  and  creased  from  being  bound,  he 
exclaimed,  "What's  this?  Let  me  see."  And  he  caught 
and  lifted  her  hands  to  look. 

"He  had  you  tied?"  Weir's  gaze  moved  away  to 
Sorenson. 

"Yes.     Hands  and  feet." 

"All  the  way  ?     All  the  long  ride  ?" 

"Yes— look  out!" 

Janet's  words,  half  a  gasp,  half  a  shriek,  gave 
warning  of  Sorenson's  movement,  though  none  was 
needed.  While  apparently  neglecting  to  watch  the  other, 
Weir  had  kept  the  man  sharp  in  the  corner  of  his  eye. 
The  motion  with  which  his  hand  darted  to  his  hip  and 
up  again  was  a  single  lightning-like  sweep;  and  his 
weapon  covered  his  enemy  before  the  latter's  hand  so 
much  as  got  his  revolver  in  grasp. 

167 


168    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Drop  it ;  drop  it  on  the  floor !"  the  engineer  ordered. 
The  gun  clattered  on  the  rough-hewn  logs.  "Now  put 
your  hands  up  and  turn  your  back  this  way."  Sorenson 
obeyed,  not  without  his  eyes  speaking  the  disappointed 
wrath  and  hatred  his  tongue  dared  not  utter.  "I  should 
have  allowed  you  to  make  a  full  draw  and  then  killed 
you,"  Steele  Weir  went  on.  "That  would  have  been  the 
simplest  way  to  settle  your  case.  Only  I  don't  like  to 
kill  bunglers,  even  when  they  deserve  it." 

He  re-sheathed  his  own  gun  and  strode  forward, 
picking  up  the  one  on  the  floor — a  black,  ugly-looking 
automatic.  This  he  dropped  into  a  coat  pocket. 

"Now  face  about,  you  cur,"  he  commanded.  "I  want 
a  good  look  at  a  man — no,  I'll  not  call  you  a  man — at  a 
low-lived  imitation  of  a  man  who  is  such  a  sneaking,  dirty 
beast  that  all  he  can  do  is  to  trap  and  tie  up  a  helpless 
girl.  I  don't  know  yet  just  what  I  shall  do  with  you, 
but  I  know  what  I  ought  to  do — I  ought  to  choke  the 
miserable  life  out  of  you!  You're  not  fit  to  live.  You 
soil  the  earth  and  pollute  the  air.  But  you're  of  the 
same  treacherous,  underhanded,  scoundrelly  breed  as 
your  father,  same  yellow  flesh  and  blood,  same  crooked 
mind  and  heart,  same  sort  of  poisonous  snake,  and  since 
you  get  it  all  from  him  I  suppose  it  can't  be  helped.  Nor 
changed,  except  by  killing  and  burying  you.  One  thing 
is  sure,  when  I'm  done  you  won't  be  trying  any  more 
deals  like  this.  Bah,  you  slimy  reptile,  you  belong  in  a 
cess-pool !" 

Under  Steele  Weir's  biting  speech  Sorenson's  face 
went  red  and  pale  by  turns.  His  lips  twitched  and 
,worked,  moving  his  mustache  in  little  angry  lifts,  while 
he  breathed  with  short  spasmodic  intakes. 

"First,  you're  after  Mexican  girls,"  Weir  went  on 
mercilessly.  "Then  Mary  Johnson,  whom  I  pulled  out 


EARTH'S  RETRIBUTION          169 

of  your  vile  fingers.  And  now  it's — "  The  engineer's 
fist  arose  suddenly  above  the  other's  head.  "Why,  I 
ought  to  drop  you  dead  in  your  tracks  for  so  much  as 
looking  at  Janet  Hosmer !  Why  don't  you  fight  ?  Why 
don't  you  give  me  a  chance,  you  cowardly  girl-robber? 
Haven't  you  a  spark  of — well,  you  haven't,  I  see.  I'll 
just  tie  you  up  and  later  figure  out  some  way  to  make 
you  suffer  for  this  night's  work."  And  with  a  gesture 
of  disgust  Weir  turned  away. 

It  was  the  moment  Sorenson  had  been  waiting  for. 
As  the  engineer's  back  came  about,  exposed  in  one 
instant  of  carelessness,  the  man  struck  Weir  full  force  on 
the  neck,  sending  him  staggering.  Then  Sorenson  leaped 
for  the  doorway. 

Janet  screamed.  Weir  recovered  himself  and  whirled 
around,  whipping  forth  his  revolver  and  firing  two  shots. 
But  the  bullets  only  buried  themselves  in  the  door 
slammed  shut  after  the  escaping  prisoner. 

"I  myself  ought  to  be  shot  for  this,"  Steele  snapped 
out. 

He  ran  across  the  cabin,  flung  the  door  open,  sprang 
out.  The  uselessness  of  seeking  his  enemy  in  the  black 
wet  gloom  was  only  too  evident,  but  he  would  not  give  up. 
Gun  in  hand,  he  stood  listening  for  sound  of  fleeing 
footsteps. 

A  light  hand  gripped  his  arm.  Janet  had  followed 
him  out,  was  at  his  side.  Barely  audible  he  heard  her 
quick,  excited  breathing. 

"Must  you  shoot  him?"  she  whispered. 

"Why  spare  him  for  more  deviltry  ?  But  111  not  have 
the  chance  now." 

"I  can't  bear  to  think  of  even  his  blood  being  on  our 
hands.  Let  him  go,"  Janet  said. 

"He's  gone  without  our  permission,  I'd  say." 


170    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Isn't  it  j  ust  as  well  ?  Pm.  not  harmed,  and  he'll  never 
dare  show  his  face  in  San  Mateo  again,"  she  said. 
"He'll  have  to  stay  away ;  he'll  leave  for  good." 

"Not  until  I  see  him  first.     I  want  that  paper." 

"Oh,  the  paper,  I  forgot  it !  And  it's  in  his  pocket," 
she  cried,  in  despair. 

"Like  the  fool  I  was,  I  forgot  it  for  the  moment  too," 
Steele  said  bitterly.  "When  I  could  have  had  it  at  once 
I  must  go  off  ranting  about  his  meanness.  It  was 
thought  of  what  he  had  done  to  you  that  made  me  over- 
look the  paper ;  that  set  me  boiling.  Lost  my  head." 

Janet's  answer  was  almost  sufficient  recompense 
for  even  such  a  serious  deprivation  as  that  of  the  docu- 
ment. 

"I'll  never  forget  that  you  were  angry  in  my  behalf," 
she  said,  softly.  "But  perhaps  you  can  gain  possession 
of  the  paper  yet." 

Before  he  could  make  a  reply  the  sound  of  a  motor 
engine  startled  them.  Sorenson  was  in  his  car,  not  far 
off.  Weir  immediately  plunged  forward  through  the 
darkness  in  the  direction  of  the  noise,  uttering  a  shout 
for  the  man  to  stop  or  be  shot.  But  after  the  taste  of 
liberty  that  he  already  had  had  Sorenson  was  prepared 
to  take  further  chances;  the  engine's  roar  burst  into 
full  volume  and  the  car  leaped  ahead,  while  its  driver 
sent  back  a  derisive  curse  to  the  cabin. 

Weir  fired  again,  fired  two  or  three  times  at  the  sound. 
Perhaps  Sorenson  was  crouching  safely  out  of  range ;  at 
any  rate,  the  bullets  did  not  reach  him,  for  the  auto- 
mobile plunged  away.  Steele  slowly  went  back  to  the 
girl. 

"How  can  he  see  without  lights?"  she  questioned. 

"He  can't  see,  but  he'd  rather  risk  not  seeing  the  road 
than  drawing  my  fire.  There's  a  bad  place  there  at  the 


EARTH'S  RETRIBUTION         171 

rock ;  he'd  better  turn  on  his  lamps  if  he  wants  to  round 
that." 

Sensing  the  danger  that  threatened  Sorenson,  both 
remained  unmoving,  trying  to  penetrate  the  darkness, 
harkening  to  the  automobile's  retreating  murmur.  A 
curiosity,  a  sort  of  detached  suspense,  rooted  them  to 
the  spot. 

"Ah,  he's  snapped  them  on !"  Janet  said,  almost  with 
relief. 

The  powerful  beam  of  the  headlights  had  suddenly 
blazed  forth.  Either  feeling  that  he  was  safe  from 
Weir's  gun  or  realizing  that  he  was  on  the  verge  of  a 
graver  danger,  Sorenson  had  chosen  to  make  the  light. 
He  was  going  at  headlong  speed;  even  where  they 
watched,  Steele  and  Janet  perceived  that, — and  only  his 
fear  of  the  peril  behind  which  made  him  heedless  of  the 
difficulties  in  front  could  account  for  that  reckless  pace. 

The  light  leaped  out  into  the  night.  Something  else 
too  seemed  to  spring  forth  within  the  circle  of  the  glow, 
dark,  sudden,  imminent,  rushing  at  the  machine.  A 
frantic  jerk  this  way  and  that  of  the  beam  showed  the 
driver's  mad  effort  to  avoid  the  towering  wall  of  granite. 
Then  a  scream  rang  back  to  the  man  and  girl  before 
the  cabin.  Followed  instantly  a  crash,  an  extinguish- 
ment of  the  light,  darkness,  silence,  and  finally  a  thin 
quivering  flame  at  the  base  of  the  ledge,  delicate  and 
blue,  like  a  dancing  chimera. 

Janet's  hand  reached  out  and  closed  in  Steele  Weir's, 
and  he  covered  it  with  his  other  hand. 

"Oh,  how  terrible !"  she  gasped.  "Did  you  see?  The 
rock  seemed  to  smite  him!" 

"Yes." 

"He  must  be  dead." 

"You  remain  here  and  I'll  go  find  out." 


172    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

He  led  her  into  the  cabin  and  to  a  stool  by  the  table, 
where  resting  her  elbows  on  the  board  she  pressed  her 
hands  over  her  eyes  as  if  to  blot  out  the  sight  she  had 
just  witnessed.  After  all  she  had  suffered,  the  climax 
of  this  dreadful  spectacle  left  her  unnerved,  weak, 
shuddering. 

"Don't  stay  long,"  she  whispered.  "Come  back  as 
quick  as  you  can.  This  cabin,  this  whole  spot  in  the 
mountains,  is  awful.  I  can  almost  feel  him  hovering 
over  me." 

"You  mustn't  permit  such  thoughts."  He  gave  her 
shoulder  an  encouraging  pat.  "It  will  take  but  a  few 
minutes  to  see  if  he's  still  alive  and  then  we'll  start  home. 
You've  been  the  bravest  girl  going  and  will  continue  to 
be,  I  know.  Everything  is  over;  nothing  can  happen 
to  you  now." 

Weir  went  out.  He  perceived  that  the  wrecked  car 
was  fully  afire  by  this  time,  its  flames  illuminating  the 
granite  ledge  and  the  ground  about.  Evidently  the 
machine's  fuel  tank  had  been  smashed  under  the  impact 
and  the  gasoline  had  escaped,  preventing  an  explosion 
but  fiercely  feeding  the  blaze.  He  ran  towards  the  place. 

At  first  he  did  not  find  Sorenson,  so  that  he  supposed 
him  buried  beneath  the  wreckage,  but  presently  he 
discovered  his  crumpled  form  lying  jammed  between  the 
base  of  the  ledge  and  a  boulder.  Weir  lifted  the  limp 
figure  from  its  resting  place  and  bore  it  to  open  ground, 
where  he  made  an  examination  of  the  still  form.  Clearly 
Sorenson  had  been  pitched  free  of  the  car  and  crushed 
against  the  rock  wall.  His  cap  was  missing;  his  coat 
was  ripped  up  the  back  and  a  part  of  it  gone  as  if  caught 
and  held  by  some  obstruction  in  the  car  when  he  had 
been  shot  forth;  blood  and  a  great  bruise  marked  one 
cheek;  and  the  way  his  legs  dragged  when  he  was  lifted 


EARTH'S  RETRIBUTION         173 

up  indicated  some  serious  injury  to  those  members.  But 
the  man  still  breathed. 

"Miracles  haven't  ceased,"  Weir  muttered,  when  he 
had  made  sure  of  the  fact.  "But  his  chance  is  slim  at 
best." 

It  would  be  false  to  say  that  the  engineer  felt 
compassion  at  the  other's  sudden  catastrophe;  he 
experienced  none.  On  the  contrary  he  had  a  sense  of 
justice  fittingly  executed,  as  if,  escaping  bullets  and 
man's  blows,  Sorenson  had  been  felled  by  a  more  certain 
power,  by  the  inevitable  consequences  of  his  own  deeds 
and  sins,  by  a  wall  of  evil  he  himself  had  raised  as  much 
as  by  a  wall  of  stone. 

He  searched  the  man's  breast  pocket,  then  hunted  for 
the  missing  document  among  the  stones  and  bushes.  At 
last  he  gave  up  for  the  time  further  seeking,  with  a 
conviction  that  the  vital  paper  was  gone  for  good, 
destroyed  in  the  fire  of  the  burning  car.  But  for  his 
own  over-confidence,  his  belief  he  had  Sorenson  a  safe 
prisoner  back  there  in  the  cabin,  the  sheets  might  be 
secure  in  his  pocket.  Well,  it  was  too  late  now. 

He  again  lifted  the  unconscious  man  in  his  arms  and 
returned  to  the  log  house.  Inside  he  laid  him  on  the 
rude  bed  which  Sorenson  himself  had  spread  with  sheets 
and  blankets. 

"He's  alive?"  Janet  asked,  awed. 

"Alive,  but  badly  hurt." 

"You'll  leave  him  here?" 

"Yes,  while  I  take  you  away.  We  could  do  nothing 
for  him  in  any  case;  his  injuries  are  grave  and  need  a 
doctor's  help.  The  best  service  we  can  perform  in  his 
behalf  is  to  start  your  father  or  some  other  physician 
here  as  quickly  as  possible.  He  may  live  or  he  may  die ; 
that  isn't  in  our  hands.  He's  unconscious  and  not 


174     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

suffering,  and  probably  will  not  feel  pain  for  some  hours 
if  he  does  live,  so  we  can  go  without  feeling  that  we're 
robbing  him  of  any  of  his  chances  of  recovery.  Your 
conscience  may  rest  quite  easy  on  that  point.  Come, 
we'll  start  at  once.  The  quicker  we  reach  your  father, 
the  quicker  he  will  arrive  here." 

When  they  were  in  his  car  he  wrapped  a  robe  about 
her  against  the  sharp  chill. 

"I  am  cold ;  my  teeth  are  chattering,"  she  said. 

"You've  been  under  a  great  strain.  Just  lie  back  and 
rest  and  think  of  something  else  than  what  has  happened, 
if  you  can,"  he  urged. 

"Ill  try  to." 

The  lamps  blazed  out  at  his  touch  of  the  switch  and 
the  car  began  to  move.  She  closed  her  eyes.  She  did 
not  wish  to  see  the  scene  of  the  smash,  with  the  leaping 
fire  and  the  horrible  pile  of  crushed  metal.  Indeed,  she 
drew  the  robe  before  her  face,  where  she  kept  it  for  some 
time. 

"Are  we  past  the  place?"  she  asked,  finally. 

"A  long  way  past." 

"Thank  heaven!  Nothing  shall  ever  drag  me  up  this 
road  again!" 

"It  will  not  take  us  long  to  reach  Johnson's  and  be  off 
this  trail  altogether,  for  it's  down-hill  going  all  the  way." 

"You  said  nothing  about  the  paper?    Did  you  get  it?" 

"No;  it  wasn't  on  him.  I'll  return  for  another  look, 
but  it  fell  in  the  fire,  I  think,  and  burned." 

"Do  you  know  what  was  in  it,  Mr.  Weir?" 

"No.     But  I  can  guess." 

"I  know  a  little  of  its  contents,  from  what  he  said 
before  you  entered.  It  was  a  statement,  something 
about  his  father  and  others  doing  dishonest  acts,  I  think. 
He  didn't  seem  to  be  quite  clear  what  it  was  about 


EARTH'S  RETRIBUTION          175 

either,  but  he  spoke  of  your  father  and  declared  he  hoped 
the  others  had  swindled  him,  which  he  inferred  had 
happened.  I  didn't  know  your  father  ever  had  been  in 
this  country.  That's  the  reason  you  hate  those  men, 
Mr.  Sorenson  and  Mr.  Vorse  and  Mr.  Burkhardt; 
because  of  some  injury  they  worked  your  father." 

"That's  the  reason.  And  that  too  is  why  they're 
trying  to  get  rid  of  me  one  way  or  another.  But  they 
didn't  hire  the  Mexican  to  attempt  to  shoot  me; 
Ed  Sorenson  employed  him.  Martinez,  when  you  told 
me  the  man's  name,  telegraphed  around  the  country 
from  Bowenville  till  he  got  track  of  the  fellow.  He  also 
secured  evidence  that  a  white  man  resembling  Ed 
Sorenson  had  been  seen  talking  with  him  at  the  place  he 
came  from.  So  we  can  draw  our  conclusions." 

"Then  he  hired  the  man  to  assassinate  you !" 

"Looks  like  it.  Because  I  took  Mary  Johnson  away 
from  him,  and  from  fear.  He  was  afraid  you  might 
learn  of  the  matter,  I  suppose,  and  decided  to  get  rid  of 
me.  He's  a  coward  at  heart,  but  none  the  less  a  criminal 
by  instinct,  so  he  hired  another  to  do  what  he  dared  not 
attempt  himself.  A  crook  like  his  father,  but  with  less 
nerve." 

Janet  was  silent  while  the  car  wound  its  way  down 
the  creek  road,  through  the  misty  darkness  and  among 
the  invisible  peaks.  The  full  danger  that  she  had 
escaped  was  but  now  making  itself  clear  to  her  mind. 

"If  he  would  go  so  far  as  to  try  to  murder  you,"  she 
faltered,  "I  surely  could  have  expected  no  pity  from 
him." 

"Now  listen  to  me,"  he  said.  "I'm  going  to  give  you 
a  little  scolding:  you  must  forget  all  this  business;  it 
just  makes  you  fearful  and  unhappy.  The  past  is  over, 
and  he's  out  of  your  life  for  good.  Look  at  it  that  way. 


176     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

Consider  the  thing  as  a  bad  dream,  done  with  and  no 
more  important.  That's  the  right  view  to  take" — he 
paused,  then  added  softly — "Janet." 

"How  strong-souled  you  are!"  she  whispered. 

Strong,  in  truth,  he  seemed.  Ignoring  danger  he  had 
come  swift  on  Sorenson's  track  and  rescued  her,  saved 
her,  kept  her  clean  from  her  assailant's  infamous 
brutishness.  The  one  was  a  knave  and  a  beast ;  but  he, 
Steele  Weir,  was  a  man,  clear  to  see,  quick  to  act,  hard 
towards  enemies,  gentle  to  friends.  Every  particle  a 
man — sure  of  himself,  and  fearless,  and  true-hearted,  and 
firm  of  soul. 

She  pressed  her  hands  tight  against  her  breast.  He 
was  a  man  one  could  love  and  honor.  "Cold  Steel"  Weir 
they  called  him — and,  she  divined,  his  love  if  ever  given 
would  be  as  lasting  as  hoops  of  steel. 


CHAPTER  XVIH 

IN  THE  NIGHT  WATCHES 

A  LIGHT  still  burned  in  the  Johnson  ranch  house,  late 
as  was  the  hour,  when  the  car  swung  round  a  copse  of 
aspens  and  brought  it  in  view.  Johnson  himself  came 
forth  at  sound  of  the  automobile,  with  a  sleepy  Mary 
following. 

"I  wouldn't  go  to  bed,  of  course,  knowing  you  were 
to  come  back,"  said  he.  But  his  true  reason  appeared  in 
his  added  words,  "I  was  just  about  ready  to  saddle  a 
horse  and  head  up  there  myself.  Mighty  glad  to  see  you 
safe  back,  Miss  Hosmer.  Mary  has  had  some  coffee  on 
the  fire  ever  since  Weir  went  along,  knowing  you'd  be 
cold  and  worn  out." 

"Just  the  thing!"  Steele  exclaimed.  "We're  both 
chilled.  Come,  Janet."  And  he  stepped  from  the 
machine. 

Without  demur  the  girl  placed  her  hand  in  the  one  he 
offered  and  descended  stiffly.  Mary  ran  back  into  the 
house  to  attend  to  the  coffee-pot  and  the  visitors  pres- 
ently were  seated  at  the  kitchen  table  at  places  already 
laid,  with  cups  of  steaming  strong  coffee  and  plates  of 
food  before  them. 

Janet  contented  herself  with  the  hot,  reviving  drink, 
but  Weir  ate  heartily  as  well.  Coming  and  going,  forty 
miles  of  driving  a  rough  mountain  road  had  given  him  a 
laborer's  appetite. 

"It's  late,  one  o'clock,"  Mary  said  to  Janet.  "Why 

177 


178     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

don't  you  stay  with  us  the  rest  of  the  night?  I  wish 
you  would." 

Janet  put  up  an  arm  and  drew  down  the  face  of  the 
girl  at  her  side  and  kissed  her. 

"You're  a  good  friend,  Mary,  to  be  so  thoughtful," 
she  answered.  "But  father  will  be  terribly  anxious 
every  minute  I'm  away.  I  must  reach  home  as  quickly 
as  possible  to  ease  his  mind." 

Of  Sorenson  nothing  had  been  spoken,  though  a 
repressed  curiosity  on  the  part  of  the  ranchman  and  his 
daughter  had  been  evident  from  the  instant  of  Weir's 
and  Janet's  return. 

At  this  point  Johnson  jerked  his  head  in  the  direction 
of  the  creek. 

"What  did  you  do  to  him,  Weir?"  he  growled. 

"Not  as  much  as  I  intended  at  first.  But  he  made  up 
for  it  himself.  Ran  his  car  against  that  granite  ledge 
before  the  cabin  while  trying  to  get  away,  and  smashed 
himself  up  badly.  I  carried  him  into  the  hut  and  left 
him  there;  he  was  alive  when  we  drove  off,  but  he  may 
be  dead  by  now.  Bad  eggs  like  him  are  hard  to  kill, 
however.  I'll  start  a  doctor  up  there  when  I  arrive  in 
San  Mateo;  probably  one  from  Bowenville." 

"Father  won't  attend  him  now,  so  long  as  there's 
another  physician  who  can,  I  know,"  Janet  stated. 

"I  should  say  not!"  Johnson  asseverated.  "If  that 
young  hound  Sorenson  had  his  deserts,  we'd  just  leave 
him  there  and  forget  all  about  him." 

"That's  where  our  civilized  notions  handicap  us," 
Steele  Weir  said,  with  a  slight  smile.  "But  at  that,  if  he 
were  the  only  person  concerned,  I'd  do  no  more  than  in- 
form a  doctor  where  he  was  and  what  had  happened  to 
him,  and  wash  my  hands  of  the  affair.  There  are  other 
things,  though,  to  consider.  Janet's  position,  primarily. 


IN  THE  NIGHT  WATCHES       179 

Her  case  is  similar  to  that  of  Mary's  awhile  ago,  and  we 
must  prevent  talk." 

"Yes,  of  course." 

"The  worst  of  the  doings  of  a  scoundrel  like  him  that 
involve  innocent  people  is  the  talk.  There  are  always 
some  people  low  enough  to  ascribe  evil  to  the  girl  as  well 
as  the  man  in  such  a  circumstance  as  this.  I  propose  to 
see  that  Janet  doesn't  suffer  that.  We  avoided  it  in 
Mary's  case  and  we'll  do  so  in  this,  though  the  situation 
is  more  difficult.  I've  been  thinking  the  matter  over  on 
the  way  down  and  have  a  plan  that  will  work  out,  I 
believe,  but  it  requires  your  help,  Johnson." 

"I  reckon  you  know  you'll  not  have  to  ask  me  twice  for 
anything,"  the  rancher  remarked. 

"And  we  may  have  to  shuffle  the  facts  avbit." 

"All  right.  I'll  do  all  the  lying  necessary  and  never 
bat  an  eye." 

"It  won't  require  much  decorating,  the  story.  But 
you  will  have  to  go  up  and  get  him,  starting  at  once." 
Then  he  concluded,  "I  hate  to  have  to  ask  you  to  make 
that  drive  late  at  night  and  in  the  darkness." 

"Never  mind  that.  Glad  to  do  it,  if  that's  what  you 
want." 

"Take  your  wagon  and  fill  the  box  with  hay  and  bring 
him  down.  By  coming  back  slowly  he  won't  be  jarred, 
and  he  has  to  be  brought  out  anyway.  If  he's  dead, 
well,  bring  his  body  just  the  same.  A  doctor  should  be 
easily  at  your  house  by  the  time  you  arrive;  and  your 
itory  is  that  a  sheepherder  found  him  lying  by  his 
wrecked  car,  carried  him  into  the  cabin  and  then  came 
down  and  told  you  of  the  accident,  on  which  you  went 
and  brought  him  in,  not  knowing,  of  course,  in  the  dark 
who  he  was  or  what  he  was  doing  up  there  or  how  the 
smash-up  had  occurred.  You  might  suggest  that  he 


180    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

was  camping  there  by  himself  to  fish,  and  stop  at 
that." 

Johnson  nodded. 

"I'll  say  just  enough  and  no  more,"  he  remarked. 

"If  you  start  at  once,  you'll  be  there  by  day-light  if 
not  before.  That  will  get  you  back  here  by  nine  or  ten 
o'clock.  I  don't  want  him  taken  to  San  Mateo;  that 
would  stir  up  a  swarm  of  inquiries  and  might  even  send 
some  of  the  curious  up  to  the  spot.  Let  the  trail  get 
cold,  so  to  speak.  People  aren't  half  as  curious  about  a 
thing  three  or  four  days  after  it  happens  as  at  the 
moment." 

"I've  noticed  that  myself." 

"And  another  thing,  I  don't  wish  his  father  to  learn  of 
the  matter  just  yet.  Under  other  circumstances  he 
should  be  the  first  to  know,  but  I  want  the  news  kept 
from  him  for  a  special  reason.  Besides,  it  would  be 
better  if  he  found  out  about  it  from  others  and  through 
roundabout  channels.  His  son  up  there  I  don't  see 
doing  any  talking  himself  for  some  time  if  he  does 
live.  When  he  is  able  to  talk,  I  believe  he'll  decide  to 
keep  his  mouth  shut  or  just  accept  the  explanation  given 
that  he  was  fishing  or  something  of  that  kind.  When 
the  doctor  has  looked  him  over,  either  he  or  you  will 
carry  him  to  Bowenville.  If  we  could  ship  him  at  once 
to  Gaston,  where  there's  some  sort  of  a  hospital,  I 
suppose,  or  even  to  Santa  Fe,  that  would  be  the  thing. 
He'd  be  out  of  the  way ;  there'd  be  no  talk ;  there  would 
be  no  explanations  to  make  except  to  the  doctor." 

"Every  doctor  round  these  parts  probably  knows 
him,"  Johnson  said,  "and  so  would  insist  on  taking  him 
home." 

"There's  a  new  one  at  Bowenville,  father  says,"  Janet 
put  in.  "A  young  man,  just  starting  practice.  He 


IN  THE  NIGHT  WATCHES       181 

hasn't  been  there  but  a  few  weeks  and  may  not  know  Ed." 

"He's  the  man  for  us!"  Weir  declared.  "We'll  send 
for  him.  Now  we  must  be  going." 

Steele  arose  from  the  table  and  stretched  his  shoulders. 

"And  I'll  hitch  up  my  team  immediately,"  the  rancher 
said. 

"I'll  go  with  you,"  Mary  exclaimed. 

"Tut,  tut,  girl." 

"I  can  help  you,  and  I  want  to  do  something  to  help 
Mr.  Weir  and  Janet  Hosmer,  even  if  it's  only  a  little  bit. 
I'm  strong,  I  don't  care  if  it  is  late — anyway,  I'd  just 
have  nightmares  if  I  stayed  here  alone, — and  I  can  help 
you  with  him.  I'm  going,"  she  ended,  obstinately. 

Johnson  eyed  her  for  a  moment,  then  yielded. 

"Nothing  to  be  afraid  of  now,"  he  rejoined,  "but 
if  you  would  rather  go  along  with  your  dad,  all 
right." 

Five  minutes  later  Steele  and  Janet  were  emerging 
from  the  canyon  upon  the  mesa.  The  drizzling  rain  still 
continued  and  the  unseen  mist  beat  cool  upon  their 
cheeks  as  the  car  swung  away  from  Terry  Creek  for 
town.  Except  for  the  stream  of  light  projected  before 
them,  they  were  engulfed  in  Stygian  darkness ;  and  save 
for  the  slithering  sound  of  the  tires  on  the  wet  road, 
they  moved  in  profound  night  silence. 

"That  business  is  arranged,"  Steele  said,  after  a  time. 
"But  we  still  have  the  results  of  the  attack  on  Martinez 
to  deal  with.  I  don't  know  how  long  he'll  hold  out 
against  the  men  who  dragged  him  off,  probably  not  long. 
I  suppose  Burkhardt  and  perhaps  Vorse  took  him,  and 
they'll  stop  at  nothing  to  get  the  paper  they're  after. 
How  they  learned  of  it,  I  don't  know,  but  find  out  about 
it  they  did ;  and  they'll  force  the  information  they  want 
from  Martinez  if  they  have  to  resort  to  hot  irons. 


182     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

That's  the  kind  of  men  they  are.  The  lawyer  will  stick 
up  to  a  certain  point — then  he'll  tell.  That  brings  you 
into  their  way." 

"You  also,"  Janet  answered. 

"I've  been  there  for  some  time,"  was  his  grim 
response.  "But  in  your  case  it's  different.  I'm  worried, 
I  tell  you  frankly." 

"Do  you  think  they  would  dare  try  to  intimidate  me 
in  my  own  home  and  with  father  to  protect  me?*'  she 
cried,  incredulously. 

"Not  there,  perhaps.  But  if  they  could  inveigle  you 
away,  yes.  They  wouldn't  use  hot  irons  in  your  case,  of 
course,  and  I  can't  guess  just  what  they  would  do,  but 
they  would  do — something.  Those  men  think  I  have  the 
'goods'  on  them ;  I  repeat,  they  would  stop  at  nothing  to 
save  themselves  if  worst  came  to  worst;  their  fear  will 
make  them  fiends.  One  couldn't  suppose  they  would 
dare  seize  Martinez  in  all  defiance  of  law — but  they  did. 
One  can't  believe  they  would  dream  of  torturing  him  for 
information — but  I  haven't  a  doubt  that's  what  they've 
done.  So  you  see  why  I'm  worried  about  you.  If 
anything  happened,  if  any  harm  came  to  you  now, 
Janet—" 

His  voice  was  unsteady  as  he  spoke  her  name  and 
ceased  abruptly.  She  thrilled  to  this  betrayal  of  his 
feeling. 

"I  wish  I  could  just  stick  at  your  side,  then  I  know  I 
should  be  safe,"  she  said. 

And  for  answer  she  felt  his  hand  grope  and  press  her 
own  for  an  instant. 

"You  can  count  on  me  being  somewhere  around." 

"I  know  that,"  she  said,  confidently. 

San  Mateo  was  asleep,  buried  in  gloom  when  they 
entered  it,  and  quiet  except  for  the  barking  of  a  dog 


IN  THE  NIGHT  WATCHES       183 

or  two  that  their  passage  stirred  to  activity.  But  in 
Dr.  Hosmer's  cottage  a  light  was  burning  and  as  the 
car  came  to  a  stop  at  its  gate  the  door  was  flung  open 
and  the  doctor  himself  appeared  framed  in  the  doorway. 
He  ran  hastily  down  the  walk  to  meet  them. 

"Janet !"  he  cried.  And  the  girl  flung  her  arms  about 
him. 

"Juanita  told  you?  Oh,  it  was  dreadful!  But  Mr. 
Weir  has  brought  me  home  safe." 

Dr.  Hosmer  too  agitated  to  speak  reached  out  and 
grasped  the  engineer's  hand,  pressing  it  fervently. 

At  about  that  moment  three  men  sat  in  the  rear  of 
Vorse's  saloon.  The  shades  were  drawn  and  the  front 
part  of  the  long  room  was  dark.  Only  a  dull  light 
burned  where  they  sat.  They  were  talking  in  low  tones, 
with  long  pauses,  with  worried  but  determined,  savage 
faces — Vorse,  Burkhardt,  Sorenson. 

"Where  the  devil  is  she,  that's  what  I  want  to  know !" 
Burkhardt  growled.  "I've  been  over  twice  and  looked 
through  a  window.  Doc  was  there." 

"She's  in  bed  and  asleep,  probably,"  Sorenson  said. 

"I  don't  believe  it.  The  old  man  would  be  in  the  sheets 
himself  if  that  were  the  case.  Didn't  I  call  up  twice  by 
'phone  too?  She  was  out,  they  said." 

"Couldn't  do  much  with  her  father  there,  anyway. 
We've  got  to  get  the  paper  by  soft  talk,"  Vorse 
commented.  "I  still  half  believe  Martinez  was  lying 
when  he  said  it  had  been  in  that  old  chair.  She  couldn't 
have  got  to  the  office  and  away  in  the  hour  or  two  before 
he  told  without  some  one  seeing  her,  and  no  one  did  so  far 
as  we  can  learn.  We  locked  the  door  too  the  second 
time  we  went  back  and  it  hasn't  been  opened  since ;  and 
we  were  there  ten  minutes  after  our  first  visit  when  we 


184     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

learned  the  papers  weren't  among  those  in  his  pocket.  I 
think  he's  got  it  cached  away  somewhere  still." 

"Then  we'll  give  him  another  dose  of  our  medicine." 

"If  I  know  anything  about  men,  he  told  the  truth," 
Sorenson  said. 

"Well,  if  the  girl  has  it,  we've  got  to  get  it  from  her  if 
I  have  to  wring  her  neck  to  do  it."  It  was  Burkhardt's 
inflamed  utterance. 

A  pause  followed. 

"Sorenson,  your  boy  is  engaged  to  her,"  Vorse  stated. 

"Yes." 

"Then  it's  up  to  him  to  get  it  first  thing  in  the 
morning.  Maybe  it  goes  against  the  grain  to  let  him 
know  about  this  business  of  the  past,  but  it  ain't  going  to 
knock  him  over ;  he's  no  fool,  he's  a  wise  bird,  he  under- 
stands that  a  good  many  things  are  done  in  business  that 
aren't  advertised.  He  knows  we  weren't  missionaries  in 
the  old  days.  And  she'll  hand  it  over  for  him  when  she 
might  not  for  any  one  else." 

"That's  right,  Sorenson,"  Burkhardt  affirmed,  his 
scowling  face  visibly  clearing. 

"Ed  went  away  somewhere  this  evening,  that's  the  only 
drawback  to  your  scheme.  Said  something  about 
Bowenville  and  catching  the  night  train  to  Santa  Fe,  and 
that  he  might  be  gone  maybe  a  couple  of  days  and  maybe 
a  week." 

"Hell !"  Burkhardt  exploded,  in  consternation. 

Vorse  however  remained  cool. 

"Then  you  must  start  telegrams  to  head  him  off,  start 
them  the  instant  you  get  home.  Telephone  to  Bowenville 
the  message  you  want  sent  and  have  the  operator 
dispatch  it  to  all  trains  going  both  ways  since  early 
evening,  in  order  to  make  sure.  If  you  can  reach  him 
within  two  or  three  hours,  wherever  he  is,  he  can  hop  off, 


IN  THE  NIGHT  WATCHES       185 

catch  a  train  back  and  be  here  by  to-morrow  evening. 
Make  your  message  urgent.  And  meanwhile  we'll  do 
what  we  can  to  get  hold  of  that  paper.  At  any  rate  we 
can  keep  her  from  seeing  Weir.  If  we  have  to  watch  her 
we'll  do  it ;  and  if  we  have  to  stop  her  from  going  to  the 
dam,  we'll  do  that  someway  too.  You  might  invite  her 
over  to-morrow  to  spend  the  day  at  your  house." 

"Do  you  think  she'll  be  likely  to  come  if  she  reads  that 
document?"  the  banker  inquired  coldly. 

"Why  not?  Tell  her  right  off  the  bat  that  the  thing 
is  a  lie  and  a  forgery  and  that  you  want  to  explain  about 
how  it  was  made.  She  might  fall  for  that  and  carry  the 
document  to  you.  She's  always  had  a  good  opinion  of 
you,  hasn't  she?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  why  should  she  change  at  a  mere  story." 

"You're  right,"  Sorenson  exclaimed  with  sudden 
energy.  "The  matter  described  happened  so  long  ago 
that  she  won't  probably  attach  as  much  importance  to  it 
as  we've  imagined  she  would.  I'll  ask  her  to  bring  it  to 
me  to  see — and  that  will  be  all  that's  necessary,  once  it's 
in  my  fingers." 

"And  what  about  him  ?"  Burkhardt  asked,  striking  the 
floor  with  his  heel. 

"Just  leave  him  there  for  the  present.  To-morrow 
we'll  have  another  talk  with  him,"  the  cattleman  stated. 
"Better  offer  him  a  couple  of  thousand  to  go  to  another 
state;  he'll  grab  at  the  chance,  I  fancy.  Money  heals 
most  wounds.  But,  Vorse,  keep  your  cellar  locked  and 
the  bartender  away  from  it.  We  can  start  Martinez 
away  sometime  to-morrow." 

"Don't  know  about  that.  To-morrow  night  will  be 
our  busy  night,"  the  ex-sheriff  said. 

"We  might  let  Gordon  handle  him,"  Vorse  suggested. 


186    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

"I  thought  perhaps  you  intended  to  keep  the  Judge  in 
ignorance  of  this  Martinez  matter.  He  seems  to  be 
getting  sort  of  feeble." 

"He's  not  too  feeble  to  take  his  share  of  the  unpleasant 
jobs  along  with  the  rest  of  us,"  Vorse  answered,  unfeel- 
ingly. "I  shall  have  him  in  here  first  thing  in  the  morn- 
ing and  tell  him  what's  happened  and  what  we've  done 
and  what  he  has  to  do." 

"Sure,'*  said  Burkhardt. 

"Well,  that's  agreeable  to  me,"  Sorenson  stated, 
looking  at  his  watch  and  rising :  "Time  we  were  turning 
in,  if  there's  nothing  more." 

At  the  dam  camp  Meyers,  the  assistant  chief  engineer, 
and  Atkinson,  the  superintendent,  were  still  awake, 
smoking  and  talking  in  the  office. 

"I  smelt  enough  booze  on  those  fellows  who  came 
stringing  in  here  to  fill  the  reservoir,"  the  latter  was 
saying.  "Some  one's  feeding  it  to  them." 

"Nobody  drunk,  though." 

"No.  But  who's  giving  it  to  them  and  why  ?  I  asked 
one  fellow  and  he  said  he'd  been  to  a  birthday  party,  and 
wouldn't  tell  where.  They  were  all  feeling  pretty  lush, 
even  if  they  weren't  soused.  And  to-morrow's  Sunday !" 

"They'll  all  be  idle,  you  mean?" 

"Sure.  If  there's  more  liquor,  they'll  be  after  it.  All 
day  to  drink  in  means  a  big  celebration.  The  whiskey  is 
sent  up  from  town,  of  course,  and  I  reckon  sent  just  at 
this  time  to  get  us  all  in  bad  while  Mr.  Pollock's  here." 

"We'll  look  up  the  bootlegging  nest  to-morrow," 
Meyers  said,  with  finality. 

"What  can  we  do  if  we  do  locate  it?  They're  not 
selling  the  stuff,  I  judge,  but  giving  it  away.  That 
clears  their  skirts  and  forces  us  to  deal  with  the  men 


IN  THE  NIGHT  WATCHES       187 

themselves  if  there's  any  dealing  done.  Probably  they 
hope  to  start  a  big  row  among  us  that  way." 

"We'll  await  Weir's  advice." 

"Well,  I've  waited  all  I'm  going  to  to-night.  Seems 
to  me  for  a  steady,  quiet,  self-respecting,  dignified, 
unhooked,  unmarried,  unmortgaged,  unromantic  man  he's 
skylarking  and  gallivanting  around  pretty  late." 

On  the  rocky  creek  road  the  ranchman  and  his 
daughter  Mary  were  driving  up  among  the  trees  on  their 
way  to  the  cabin,  a  lantern  swinging  from  the  end  of  the 
wagon  tongue,  the  horses  straining  against  the  grade. 
On  Johnson's  beard  the  moisture  formed  beads  which 
from  time  to  time  he  brushed  away.  From  the  trees 
collected  drops  of  water  fell  on  their  hands  and  knees. 
All  about  as  they  proceeded  the  bushes  and  rocks 
appeared  in  shadowy  outline,  to  disappear  in  the  night 
once  more,  yielding  to  others. 

"Isn't  this  cabin  where  we're  going  the  one  we  drove 
to  three  years  ago  when  you  were  hunting  some  cattle?" 
Mary  asked. 

"Yes." 

"I  never  thought  then  that  Ed  Sorenson  would  be 
lying  up  there  all  mashed  to  pieces,"  she  said,  with  awed 
voice. 

"I  guess  he  didn't  either,"  was  the  dry  response. 

"He  ought  to  be  ready  to  stop  chasing  girls  after 
this,"  she  declared. 

"He  won't  if  he  can  walk;  his  kind  never  does  quit." 

"Then  his  kind  ought  to  be  locked  up  somewhere  like 
mad  dogs.  In  a  'sylum,  maybe." 

"I  guess  you're  right  on  that,  Mary.  They're 
dangerous." 

"Funny  we  didn't  know  he'd  been  up  there,  going  past 


188    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

our  house.  He  must  have  been  there  first  before  taking 
Janet." 

"Sneaked  up  in  the  night,  probably.  He'd  have  to 
have  grub  and  so  on  if  he  expected  to  stay  even  a  day  or 
two.  Crooks  always  look  after  their  bellies,  be  sure." 

"I  reckon  Janet  Hosmer  will  like  Mr.  Weir  a  whole  lot 
now,  don't  you?" 

"She  ought  to,  if  she  doesn't." 

A  long  silence  followed  while  Mary  apparently  pur- 
sued the  line  of  thought  opened  up  by  this  speculation. 

"If  she  has  the  good  sense  I  think  she  has,"  the  ranch- 
er stated  at  length,  for  his  mind  at  least  had  been  fol- 
lowing out  the  subject,  "she'll  not  only  like  him  a  whole 
lot,  but  she'll  lead  him  to  the  altar  and  put  her  brand  on 
him." 

He  spoke  to  unhearing  ears.  For  just  then  Mary 
sagged  against  him,  her  head  sank  on  his  shoulder.  He 
put  an  arm  around  her  form  and  let  her  sleep,  thus 
roughly  expressing  his  tenderness  and  love.  Weir  had 
not  only  rescued  Janet  Hosmer  from  the  clutches  of  the 
man  now  lying  injured ;  he  also  had  once  saved  Johnson's 
own  child  Mary  from  the  scoundrel's  grasp. 

Weir  might  ask  anything  of  him,  even  to  the  laying 
down  of  his  life  in  his  defense. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A  QUEER  PAPER 

WHEN  Mary  Johnson  next  opened  her  eyes  it  was  at 
a  little  shake  by  her  father.  She  had  slept  heavily  de- 
spite the  jolting  of  the  wagon;  and  now  looked  about 
drowsy-eyed  and  at  a  loss  to  know  where  she  was.  Her 
clothes  and  face  were  damp,  her  hands  cold.  She  wasn't 
sure  yet  but  this  was  still  a  dream — the  team  and  wagon, 
the  cabin  before  which  they  stood,  the  trees  and  rocks 
scattered  about  the  grassy  park-like  basin,  and  the 
soaring  mountain  peaks  on  every  hand  that  were  just 
touched  by  the  first  early  sun-rays. 

The  rain  and  mists  were  gone,  leaving  the  dawn  clear, 
gray,  sharp,  scented  with  the  pungent  odor  of  balsam 
and  pine.  From  a  distance  came  the  subdued  murmur  of 
Terry  Creek,  which  here  high  in  the  mountain  range  had 
its  source  in  springs  and  brooks  flowing  from  pools.  All 
was  peaceful. 

Mary's  look  came  to  rest  on  the  cabin.  Over  it  reared 
the  great  pines  that  grew  in  a  clump  behind.  Its  door 
was  ajar,  but  the  log  house  for  any  sign  of  occupancy 
might  have  been  untenanted.  Immediately  the  girl 
glanced  back  along  the  road  they  had  come  and  beheld 
there  in  the  dim  shadow  at  the  foot  of  the  lofty  granite 
ledge  a  shapeless  black  lump.  She  shivered. 

"You  awake?"  her  father  asked. 

"Yes."  And  she  began  to  climb  down  over  the  wagon 
wheel. 

189 


190    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Wait  here.  I'll  go  in  first.  He  might  be "  But 

though  the  rancher  did  not  complete  his  sentence  the 
words  spoken  carried  their  own  grave  implication. 

He  came  out  again  presently.  Mary  gazed  at  his 
face  to  read  from  it  the  news  it  might  carry,  and  it  was 
with  a  breath  of  relief  she  perceived  that  the  injured  man 
was  still  alive,  for  her  father  himself  appeared  easier  of 
mind.  Neither  would  by  choice  have  a  dead  man  for  a 
passenger  on  the  ride  home,  even  Ed  Sorenson. 

"He's  breathing,  but  is  still  unconscious,"  Johnson 
declared.  "Must  have  got  a  crack  in  the  head  along  with 
the  rest.  Face  is  covered  with  dried  blood.  From  the 
stuff  inside  the  house  he  must  have  been  fixing  for  quite 
a  stay — blankets,  grub,  whiskey,  candles,  and  so  on. 
We'll  eat  a  bite  ourselves  before  starting  back ;  get  the 
pail  out  of  the  wagon  and  bring  some  water  and  I'll  make 
a  pot  of  coffee.  There's  a  fireplace  and  wood  inside." 

"I'll  get  the  water,  but  I'll  stay  out  while  you're  boiling 
it,"  the  girl  said.  "I  don't  want  to  see  him  until  I  have 
to  go  in  and  help  carry  him  out." 

She  went  off  for  the  water,  on  her  return  setting  the 
bucket  by  the  door.  Then  curious  to  see  the  place  of 
Ed  Sorenson's  accident,  she  wandered  back  along  the 
trail  to  the  ledge.  There  she  beheld  the  crumpled,  fire- 
blackened  remains  of  his  automobile  in  a  heap  near  the 
stone  wall.  Apparently  the  car  had  first  struck  a  small 
boulder,  which  had  flung  Sorenson  out  on  one  side  and 
forward,  then  leaping  this  hit  the  ledge  full  force. 

At  the  instant  he  must  have  been  off  the  road  and 
headed  wrong,  she  guessed.  The  rapid  daybreak  of  the 
mountains  had  by  now  dispersed  the  last  dimness  and 
indeed  the  crags  far  above  were  bright  with  sunshine. 
She  could  plainly  see  the  ruin  that  the  machine  was,  fire 
having  completed  what  the  smash  had  left  undamaged, 


A  QUEER  PAPER  191 

and  the  part  of  the  rock  that  was  smoked  by  the  flames, 
and  was  able  to  smell  yet  the  reek  of  burnt  oil,  varnish 
and  rubber. 

With  the  eyes  of  the  curious  she  stared  at  the  wreck, 
at  the  ledge,  at  the  ground,  absorbed  with  simple  specu- 
lations and  filled  with  a  sense  of  awe.  The  machine  must 
have  made  a  big  sound  when  it  struck.  It  was  a  lot  of 
money  gone  quickly,  that  car.  Not  enough  of  it 
left  to  make  it  worth  hauling  away.  And  so  on  and  so 
on. 

Then  all  at  once  her  wandering  regard  detected  some- 
thing white  in  a  crevice  between  two  stones.  At  first  she 
thought  it  the  gleam  of  a  bird  or  a  chipmunk.  The  thing; 
was  some  yards  off  from  the  spot  where  she  stood,  but 
the  flutter  persisted.  So  she  approached  it  to  learn  its 
nature. 

The  thing  was  a  paper.  One  corner  of  a  sheet  stuck 
up  from  the  crack  in  which  it  lay  and  was  waved  gently 
by  the  rising  dawn  breeze.  She  drew  it  out  and  perceived 
it  was  fastened  to  other  sheets  that  were  folded,  all  damp 
from  the  rain  though  not  soaked  because  the  cranny  had 
admitted  little  moisture.  It  was  the  last  sheet  which 
had  come  partly  unfolded,  apparently  as  it  fell,  so  was 
left  in  sight  or  she  would  never  have  noticed  the  white 
flutter.  This  last  sheet  was  blank,  but  the  others,  neat- 
ly folded  though  wrinkled,  were  covered  with  writing  she 
saw  on  spreading  them  open.  However,  she  could  not 
read  the  pages ;  the  matter  was  typewritten,  but  it  was 
not  English.  Some  foreign  language,  maybe. 

If  Mary  could  not  read  the  document,  she  could  at 
least  logically  deduce  how  it  had  happened  to  be  in  its 
present  resting-jalace.  The  paper  was  here  because  the 
wrecked  automobile  was  here,  so  when  Ed  Sorenson  was 
pitched  out  the  folded  sheets  of  paper  must  have  been 


192    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

propelled  from  his  pocket  by  the  same  force  and  at  the 
same  instant.  It  hit  a  rock  after  flying  through  the  air 
and  slid  down  into  the  crack. 

Perhaps  it  was  only  a  business  document;  it  looked 
like  one.  Again  perhaps  it  told  something  about  his 
crooked  private  affairs — about  his  schemes  for  ruining 
girls,  possibly.  Very  likely,  indeed.  That  seemed  to  be 
about  all  he  engaged  himself  at.  When  she  found  som» 
one  who  could  read  it,  she  would  know  for  certain.  She 
would  just  take  it  along  with  her  and  say  nothing  about 
her  find  until  she  could  have  somebody  who  under- 
stood the  writing  read  it  over  for  her. 

In  places  the  typing  had  stained  from  dampness,  but 
not  seriously.  She  could  dry  out  the  pages  over  the 
kitchen  stove  at  home.  So  folding  the  sheets  again,  she 
doubled  the  document,  tied  it  in  her  handkerchief  and 
placed  it  inside  her  waist,  where  it  could  not  be  lost. 
Perhaps  there  were  other  papers.  But  a  further  search 
disclosed  none,  whereupon  as  her  father  was  shouting  to 
her  from  the  cabin  to  come  she  retraced  her  steps. 

When  they  had  drunk  their  coffee  and  eaten  some  of 
Sorenson's  food,  making  their  meal  before  the  door,  they 
carried  the  unconscious  man  out  to  the  wagon,  bearing 
him  in  the  blanket  on  which  he  lay.  Other  blankets  they 
spread  over  him.  Johnson  also  placed  at  the  prostrate 
figure's  feet  the  rest  of  the  eatables  in  the  cabin. 

"No  need  to  leave  this  stuff  to  the  pack-rats,"  said  he. 
"We'll  just  consider  it  a  little  pay  towards  fetching  him 
out." 

"He  ought  to  be  willing  to  pay  you  a  whole  lot  more 
when  he  learns  the  trouble  you've  been  to." 

"I  wouldn't  touch  his  money  if  he  offered  me  a  thou- 
sand dollars;  I'd  throw  it  back  in  his  face.  I'm  not 
doing  this  for  pay,  or  friendship,  or  charity ;  I'm  doing 


A  QUEER  PAPER  193 

it  to  help  Janet  Hosmer  and  because  Weir  asked  me. 
If  the  Sorensons  had  all  the  money  on  earth,  they 
couldn't  give  me  a  penny  as  between  man  and  man.  If 
they  owed  it  to  me,  that  would  be  another  matter. 
They'd  pay  it  if  I  had  to  stick  a  gun  down  their  throats 
to  make  them  come  across." 

"We  don't  need  any  of  their  money,  I  guess,"  Mary 
said. 

"Nope.  We're  poor  but  we're  straight.  So  we're 
better  off  than  they  are — richer,  if  we  just  look  at  it 
that  way." 

Once  during  the  long  drive,  as  they  neared  the  ranch 
house,  a  low  moan  came  from  the  form  on  the  straw  in 
the  wagonbed.  Both  Johnson  and  Mary  looked  around 
quickly,  then  regarded  each  other. 

"Beginning  to  suffer,"  said  the  parent.  "It's  a  won- 
der there's  a  whole  bone  in  his  body.  I  hope  the  doctor 
is  down  below  waiting  for  us." 

This  proved  to  be  the  case  when  about  ten  o'clock 
Johnson  drove  his  worn-out  team  into  his  dooryard. 
Weir's  car  was  there  and  with  it  the  engineer  himself 
and  a  young  medical  practitioner.  Climbing  up  into  the 
wagon,  the  doctor  made  a  hasty  examination  of  the  pa- 
tient. 

"Hips  broken.  Slight  concussion  of  the  skull,  but  not 
dangerous,"  was  his  opinion.  "I  shall  not  be  able  to 
tell  the  full  seriousness  of  his  injuries  until  I  have  him 
stripped  on  a  table  or  bed.  Probably  there  are  other 
broken  bones, — ribs  or  something.  We  must  get  him 
down  to  Bowenville  as  quickly  as  possible,  for  his  is  a 
bad  case.  But  I  guess  if  he  has  pulled  through  so  far 
he'll  recover.  If  you'll  drive  your  wagon  down  to  the 
mouth  of  the  canyon,  we'll  transfer  him  to  my  car,  which 
is  double  seated,  and  then  you  can  accompany  me  to 


194    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

town;  Mr.  Weir  says  you  are  willing  to  go  along  and 
help.  I'll  send  you  back  from  Bowenville." 

"Yes,  I'll  go  along.  Mary  will  ride  down  with  us  and 
bring  back  the  team  and  wagon." 

"Strange  what  he  was  doing  up  there  in  the  moun- 
tains with  an  automobile  alone,"  the  doctor  remarked. 

"Oh,  he  might  have  wanted  a  day's  fishing,  or  was 
taking  a  look  at  cattle  or  range,  something  like  that," 
Johnson  stated. 

"Mr.  Weir  said  a  sheepherder  found  him.  Wasn't 
that  it,  sir?" 

The  engineer  turned  to  the  rancher. 

"Wasn't  that  the  way  of  it?" 

"Yes.  Showed  up  here  late  and  said  he  had  found  the 
man  and  carried  him  into  the  cabin.  Said  his  wrecked 
car  was  still  burning,  so  the  accident  couldn't  have  oc- 
curred very  long  previous.  Said  we  ought  to  bring 
him  down  immediately  as  he  was  badly  hurt.  So  I  sent 
word  to  Dr.  Hosmer,  and  my  girl  and  I  set  off  at  once, 
the  sheepherder  going  back  with  us.  Said  he  just  hap- 
pened to  be  looking  for  a  stray  sheep  or  he  would  never 
have  come  on  this  man,  as  he  was  heading  his  band  for 
a  pass  to  get  over  on  the  west  side  of  the  range.  S'pose 
we'll  never  see  him  again." 

"Do  you  know  who  this  man  is  ?" 

"His  face  seems  sort  of  familiar,"  Johnson  replied, 
scratching  his  chin.  "But  he  looks  like  a  city  chap,  by 
his  clothes,  what's  left  of  them.  No  papers  or  anything 
on  him  to  tell  his  name.  Might  have  come  over  the  pass 
himself  from  the  other  side ;  men  go  everywhere  in  these 
hill-climbing  cars  they  make  nowadays." 

"Somebody  will  be  seeking  information  soon  and  then 
we'll  know,"  the  physician  said.  "He'll  probably  give 
his  name  and  address  himself  when  he  comes  round.  But 


A  QUEER  PAPER  195 

if  I'm  not  mistaken  he'll  need  another  sort  of  car  if  he 
does  any  moving  about  when  he's  out  of  bed." 

"Why's  that?" 

"Speaking  off-hand,  I'll  say  he'll  never  walk  again. 
That's  the  way  broken  hips  usually  turn  out ;  and  if  his 
spine  is  injured,  as  I  suspect,  he  will  probably  be  para- 
lyzed from  the  waist  down.  Hard  luck  for  a  young  man 
like  him.  He'll  wish  at  times  he  was  killed  outright." 

Unobserved  by  the  speaker  Weir  and  Johnson  ex- 
changed a  meaningful  look.  In  the  minds  of  both  moved 
the  same  thought,  that  Providence  had  punished  Ed 
Sorenson  according  to  his  sins  and  more  adequately  than 
could  man.  Dreadful  years  were  before  him.  He  would, 
in  truth,  wish  a  thousand  times  that  he  had  died  at  the 
foot  of  the  ledge. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  visitors  had  departed,  the 
rancher  going  with  the  physician  and  his  charge  to 
Bowenville,  Weir  returning  to  San  Mateo.  Mary  had 
driven  the  wagon  up  from  the  mouth  of  the  canyon,  un- 
harnessed the  horses,  watered  and  fed  them,  and  now 
was  seated  in  the  kitchen  staring  absently  out  the  open 
door.  After  so  much  excitement  she  felt  distrait,  de- 
pressed. 

Finally  she  produced  and  dried  the  papers  over  the 
stove,  in  which  she  had  re-kindled  a  fire. 

"Funny  how  anybody  should  want  to  talk  or  write 
anything  but  English,"  she  remarked  to  herself,  gazing 
at  the  pages. 

She  attempted  to  extract  some  sense  from  the  strange 
words.  At  the  bottom  of  the  last  sheet  she  deciphered 
Felipe  Martinez'  name  under  the  notorial  acknowledg- 
ment. All  at  once  in  scanning  certain  lines  she  came 
on  names  that  were  plain  enough — Sorenson,  Vorse, 
Burkhardt,  Gordon.  The  last  must  mean  Judge  Gordon. 


196    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

Then  presently  she  found  two  more  names  that  excited 
her  curiosity — James  Dent's  and  Joseph  Weir's. 

Springing  to  her  feet  she  stared  at  the  sheets  in  her 
hand.  For  some  reason  or  other  her  blood  was  beating 
with  an  odd  sensation  of  impending  discovery. 

"Why — why "  she  stammered.  "Why,  those  are 

the  men  father  told  about  being  shot,  and  him  looking  on 
as  a  boy !  This  is  a  queer  paper !  I  wish  he  were  here.** 

Possession  of  it  gave  her  a  feeling  of  uneasiness.  Her 
father  had  warned  her  never  to  speak  of  the  matter  to 
any  one — and  here  was  something  about  it  in  writing, 
or  so  she  guessed.  He  had  said  Sorenson  and  the  other 
men  would  kill  him  at  once  if  they  learned  he  had  been 
a  witness.  That  meant  they  would  kill  her  too  if  they 
found  out  that  she  not  only  knew  about  their  crime 
but  had  this  paper  as  well. 

She  looked  about.  Finally  she  retied  the  document 
in  a  tea-towel,  tight  and  secure,  and  buried  it  deep  in 
the  flour  barrel.  They  would  not  think  of  looking  in 
the  flour.  But  she  went  to  the  door  just  the  same  and 
gazed  anxiously  down  the  canyon  as  if  enemies  might 
put  their  heads  in  sight  that  very  minute. 


CHAPTER  XX 

ANXIETIES 

"MY  dear  doctor,  your  talents  are  wasted  in  San 
Mateo.  They  should  be  employed  in  the  larger  field  of 
diplomacy,"  said  Steele  Weir,  when  on  his  arrival  from 
Terry  Creek  he  was  apprised  of  what  had  occurred 
during  his  absence. 

"From  all  indications  I  shall  have  full  opportunity 
for  their  use  hereafter,  whatever  they  may  be,  in  our  own 
bailiwick,"  Doctor  Hosmer  replied,  smiliBg.  "There's 
more  going  on  in  our  village,  apparently,  than  in  many 
a  small  kingdom.  I  merely  had  Janet  use  the  truth  with 
certain  limitations,  and  there's  no  wiser  course  when 
part  of  the  facts  are  known.  Sorenson  seemed  quite 
satisfied  with  her  explanation." 

The  colloquy  resulted  from  a  meeting  between  Janet 
and  the  cattleman  while  Weir  was  guiding  the  young 
physician,  summoned  from  Bowenville,  to  Johnson's 
ranch.  Sorenson  had  appeared  at  the  house  about  ten 
o'clock  that  morning  desiring  to  see  the  girl.  They  had 
talked  together  on  the  veranda,  where  the  visitor  stated 
he  had  effected  a  settlement  and  obtained  an  acknowledg- 
ment from  Martinez,  who  was  trying  to  blackmail  him 
and  others ;  that  a  certain  paper  had  been  prepared  by 
the  lawyer  for  use  in  the  disreputable  business ;  that  the 
man  had  said  he  had  asked  Janet  to  secure  it  from  an 
old  chair  in  his  office;  and  he  wished  to  learn  if  she  had 
done  so. 

197 


198     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

Janet  had  admitted  such  to  be  the  case. 

"It  was  odd  Mr.  Martinez  should  telephone  me  to  go 
get  it,  wasn't  it?"  she  had  asked.  "But  I  went,  and 
there  it  was  stuffed  in  the  lining  of  the  chair." 

"You  have  it  then?"  Sorenson  stated,  with  a  sigh  of 
relief  and  his  eyes  kindling  with  eagerness. 

"No,  I  haven't  it  now." 

"What  in  heaven's  name  did  you  do  with  it?"  he 
asked. 

"As  I  was  coming  out  of  Mr.  Martinez'  office,  there 
at  the  door  was  Ed.  He  had  seen  me  go  in  and  so 
stopped  his  car  before  the  door;  after  a  time  he  took 
the  paper  to  see  what  it  was." 

"Then  you  didn't  see  its  contents?" 

"No ;  I  didn't  even  open  it." 

"And  he  has  it?" 

"He  had  it  the  last  I  saw  of  the  paper.  He  read  it. 
First,  he  was  going  to  burn  it  up  because  it  made  him 
angry,  then  he  changed  his  mind,  saying  he  would  take 
it  to  show  to  you,  as  he  thought  you  would  be  interested. 
Is  there  anything  else  you  wish  to  know,  Mr.  Sorenson  ?" 

"Where  did  he  go  from  there?" 

"He  drove  away.  From  something  he  said,  I  judged 
that  he  planned  to  be  away  from  home  several  days." 

Revolting  as  it  was  to  Janet  to  put  so  fair  a  face  on 
Ed  Sorenson's  conduct,  nevertheless  she  had  braced  her- 
self to  go  through  with  the  part  and  presented  to  the 
cattleman  a  clear,  natural  countenance.  The  very  sim- 
plicity of  her  story,  its  directness,  its  accord  with  the 
facts  as  he  knew  them,  carried  conviction.  Innocently 
drawn  into  the  affair,  she  had,  in  his  view,  been  quickly 
guided  out  again  by  Ed's  luck  and  wit. 

Ed  had  the  deadly  document.  The  four  men  con- 
cerned might  breathe  easily  once  more.  Ed  himself,  in  all 


ANXIETIES  199 


probability,  did  not  realize  the  true  menace  of  old 
Saurez'  deposition,  or  he  would  at  once  have  brought 
it  to  him  instead  of  continuing  on  his  trip:  the  boy  no 
doubt  thought  it  sufficient  to  keep  it  until  he  returned 
or  mailed  it  back  from  somewhere ;  he  perhaps  had  taken 
it  along  for  a  more  careful  reading.  Good  boy,  anyway. 
He  had  got  possession  of  the  thing,  that  was  the  main 
consideration. 

"He  told  me  too  that  he  was  leaving  last  evening  for 
a  few  days'  jaunt,"  Sorenson  said,  rising  to  go.  "You'll 
likely  have  a  whole  basketful  of  letters  from  him.  Finest 
boy  going,  Ed,  even  if  it's  his  own  father  who  says  it. 
But  he's  the  lucky  one,  Janet."  The  girl  lowered  her 
eyelids,  for  at  this  flattery  she  felt  she  could  no  longer 
dissemble  her  feelings.  "Sorry  to  have  bothered  you 
about  the  matter,"  he  concluded.  "Fellows  like  this 
Martinez  are  always  making  us  trouble.  Run  over  and 
eat  dinner  with  us  soon." 

He  went  down  the  walk,  large,  dominant  and  still  with 
a  trace  of  his  early  cowman's  walk.  Both  his  step  and 
his  erectness  bespoke  the  buoyant  effect  of  the  talk  upon 
his  spirits,  which  was  not  to  be  wondered  at  as  he  had 
splendid  news  to  import  to  his  confreres  in  crime.  They 
would  get  rid  of  Martinez,  destroy  the  paper  when  Ed 
delivered  it,  and  their  skeleton — this  one  (of  a  number) 
which  had  unexpectedly  kicked  the  door  open  and  started 
to  dance  in  public — would  be  safely  locked  up  forever. 
For  Saurez,  the  only  witness  (as  they  believed)  was  now 
dead:  he  would  make  no  more  depositions.  Certainly 
Sorenson  had  reason  to  walk  briskly  away  from  Doctor 
Hosmer's  dwelling. 

Janet  had  somberly  watched  him  till  he  was  out  of 
sight,  then  had  gone  inside. 

"I  don't  see  how  I  ever  imagined  him  an  honorable 


200    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

man,"  she  said  to  her  father.  "For  all  his  pretended 
politeness  he  was  ready  if  necessary  to  bully  me.  One 
thing  he  can't  ever  say  is  that  I  didn't  tell  him  exact 
facts ;  what  I  omitted  was  the  circumstances  giving  rise 
to  the  facts."  And  her  father,  who  now  knew  from  Weir 
the  story  of  the  happening  of  thirty  years  before,  as- 
sured her  that  she  need  be  troubled  over  no  moral  hair- 
splitting. 

The  incident,  as  Steele  Weir  perceived,  diverted  both 
suspicion  and  danger  from  Janet,  at  least  for  a  time. 
A  big  gain  that.  And  he  was  impressed  by  the  subtle 
sagacity  of  the  maneuver. 

"That  wasn't  just  a  clever  move,  it  was  a  flash  of  gen- 
ius," he  told  father  and  daughter.  Then  after  a  few 
minutes  more  of  talk  he  said:  "Now  I  must  be  running 
up  to  the  dam.  To-day  is  Sunday  and  the  works  are 
quiet,  so  if  I  find  everything  all  right  I  shall  strike  back 
immediately  for  Terry  Creek  and  the  cabin  up  above. 
I  want  to  make  a  search  for  that  paper  by  daylight." 

"After  your  hard  night?"  Janet  exclaimed.  "I 
snatched  some  sleep  when  we  had  done  talking  last  night, 
but  father  says  you  and  he  had  none.  You  can't  make 
that  terrible  ride  again  without  rest!" 

"Missing  a  night  in  bed  is  nothing  new,"  he  laughed. 
"Once  or  twice  in  my  life  I've  not  had  my  clothes  off  in 
a  week,  and  only  such  cat-naps  as  I  could  steal  mean- 
time. But  I'll  not  boast  of  that ;  your  father  probably 
has  gone  longer  periods  without  sleep,  or  with  only 
broken  rest,  than  ever  I  did.  Most  doctors  do.  Be  sure 
and  let  me  know  if  anything  new  occurs." 

But  if  Weir's  mind  was  put  at  ease  so  far  as  Janet 
was  concerned,  he  had  more  than  enough  other  cares 
to  burden  his  thoughts.  The  loss  of  the  deposition, 
chief  of  all;  then  the  matter  of  effecting  Martinez'  re- 


ANXIETIES  201 

lease,  wherever  he  was  immured;  and  finally,  as  he 
learned  from  Meyers  and  Atkinson  on  reaching  camp, 
the  insidious  promise  of  trouble  in  the  "free  whiskey 
party." 

"Perhaps  whoever  supplied  the  fire-water  underesti- 
mated this  copper-lined  crew's  capacity  and  didn't  fur- 
nish enough,"  Meyers  suggested.  "Nobody  was  really 
drunk  last  night  and  here  it  is  nearly  noon,  with  the 
men  all  hanging  about  camp.  If  there  was  whiskey  yet 
to  be  had,  some  of  these  thirsty,  rollicking  scrappers 
of  ours  would  be  right  back  at  the  spigot  this  morn- 
ing" 

"Maybe  so,"  Atkinson  admitted.  "Seems  so — and  yet 
I  ain't  easy  in  my  mind.  The  men  don't  act  right ;  they 
behave  as  if  they're  just  waiting;  they're  restless  and 
not  a  man  could  I  get  to  open  his  mouth  about  where 
they  found  the  stuff.  If  there  wasn't  to  be  any  more, 
they  would  have  told  and  tried  to  kid  me.  They  appear 
to  me  as  if  just  biding  their  time.  Some  men  weren't 
gone,  of  course,  those  who  don't  drink.  They  stayed  in 
the  bunk-house  and  they  know  nothing.'* 

"We'll  go  on  the  supposition  then  that  there  will  be 
more  coming,  and  act  accordingly,"  Weir  stated,  at 
once.  "Watch  them  close,  and  put  up  a  warning  that 
men  who  are  not  at  work  in  the  morning,  or  who  bring 
booze  into  camp,  will  be  fired." 

"That's  the  trouble,"  the  superintendent  declared.  "I 
don't  think  they  brought  a  drop  in  except  in  their  skins. 
And  as  we  say,  they  weren't  drunk.  There's  not  a  thing 
we  can  object  to  and  they  know  it;  somebody  has  put 
'em  wise  how  to  act.  Here  they  are,  sober  this  morn- 
ing, behaving  themselves,  and  so  on.  We  can't  keep  men 
from  going  for  a  walk  if  they  want  to;  we  can't  string 
barb-wire  around  the  camp  and  hold  them  in;  we  can't 


202     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

even  say  they  can't  touch  a  bottle  if  a  stranger  offers 
them  one  when  they're  on  the  outside." 

"But  we  can  hold  up  the  consequences  if  they  go  on  a 
spree,"  Steele  replied.  "Most  of  them  are  satisfied  with 
the  work  and  pay  and  grub ;  they  don't  want  to  go." 

"No,  but  they  like  whiskey  too,  free  whiskey  in  par- 
ticular. They  would  say  they're  not  getting  drunk — no 
man  ever  really  expects  to  when  he  starts  drinking — and 
talk  about  their  *rights.'  There  are  two  or  three  fellows 
in  camp  now  who  are  doing  a  lot  of  mouthing  about 
labor's  rights;  I.  W.  W.'s,  I'd  say.  Shouldn't  be  sur- 
prised if  they  were  the  ring-leaders." 

"If  more  whiskey  comes,  we  must  beat  them  to  it." 

"That's  my  notion,"  Atkinson  said,  with  a  nod.  "I 
didn't  locate  the  booze  fountain  last  night,  but  I  did 
this  morning.  Took  a  horse  at  daylight  and  rode  along 
the  hills;  about  a  mile  south  in  some  trees  at  the  foot 
of  the  mountain,  I  came  across  a  case  of  empty  bottles 
and  a  keg  half-full  of  water.  That  was  all,  but  it 
showed  where  the  'birthday  party'  was." 

'That's  the  place  to  watch,  then.  Better  send  a 
trusty  man  there  to  report  to  us  immediately  if  he  sees 
signs  of  a  supply  arriving  for  to-night.  Half  a  dozen 
of  us  with  axes  will  soon  start  a  temperance  wave  in  that 
locality." 

In  accordance  with  this  instruction  the  superintendent 
dispatched  a  reliable  man  to  maintain  guard  at  the  spot ; 
and  Weir,  feeling  that  all  had  been  done  that  was  pos- 
sible under  the  circumstances,  gave  his  attention  to  other 
matters. 

But  he  perceived  that  with  this  "liquor  attack"  in  the 
air,  for  it  was  but  another  of  his  enemies'  moves  against 
him,  of  course,  directed  with  the  purpose  of  creating 
internal  disorder,  he  must  postpone  his  trip  to  the  head- 


ANXIETIES  203 

waters  of  Terry  Creek.  Knowing  the  crafty,  persistent, 
conscienceless  character  of  the  four  men  inspiring  the 
trick,  he  was  under  no  delusion  that  the  "free  whiskey" 
would  end  with  a  single  case  of  bottles.  Among  three 
hundred  men  that  would  amount  to  but  two  or  three 
drinks  apiece — a  mere  taste,  only  a  teaser.  And  because 
it  was  only  a  teaser,  the  men  would  want  more.  If  he 
could  carry  them  over  this  idle  Sunday  sober,  they  would 
be  at  work  on  the  morrow  and  the  chief  danger  be 
passed. 

Unfortunately  a  manager  cannot  take  his  workmen 
into  his  confidence  in  such  a  case  and  explain  the  na- 
ture of  such  a  cunning  attack;  the  thing  was  too  com- 
plex, and  their  untutored  minds  would  fail  to  perceive  if 
they  did  not  actually  reject  the  explanation,  in  jealousy 
for  their  "rights"  concluding  that  they  were  being  hood- 
winked. By  very  perverseness  they  would  refuse  to  deny 
themselves  a  free  gift  of  whiskey. 

With  Pollock,  however,  whose  interest  as  a  director 
was  vital,  he  could  talk  in  full  expectation  of  being  un- 
derstood. And  moreover,  owing  to  the  entangled  con- 
dition into  which  the  company's  and  his  own  personal 
affairs  had  come,  strict  honor  required  that  he  inform 
his  visitor  of  the  entire  situation  and  offer,  if  in  the 
director's  view  such  action  would  best  serve  the  com- 
pany's ends,  to  resign. 

In  his  office  immediately  after  dinner  he  gave  the 
easterner  a  complete  account  of  happenings  in  San 
Mateo  since  his  arrival  as  manager,  with  a  statement  of 
his  father's  earlier  residence  here,  of  the  fraud  practiced 
by  Sorenson  and  his  companions  on  him  and  his  tragi- 
cally ruined  life. 

"This,  you  see,  has  resulted  not  only  in  bringing  the 
animosity  of  these  men  against  me  but  in  aggravating 


204     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

their  hostility  to  the  company,"  he  concluded.  "I've 
never  been  a  quitter.  It  would  go  sorely  against  the 
grain  with  me  to  quit  now  while  under  fire.  But  my  own 
feelings  or  fortunes  should  have  no  weight;  the  com- 
pany's interests  alone  are  to  be  considered.  I  shall 
turn  over  the  management  to  Meyers  and  retire  if  you 
desire ;  I  count  my  contract  not  binding  upon  your  board 
under  the  circumstances.'* 

Pollock  arose  and  began  to  pace  the  office,  gently 
beating  the  air  with  his  eye-glasses  and  thoughtfully 
regarding  the  floor. 

"I  should  not  do  your  remarkable  story  proper  justice 
if  I  did  not  give  it  the  serious  attention  it  deserves,"  he 
said,  after  a  time.  "Certain  aspects  of  the  case  would 
appear  to  favor  our  accepting  your  resignation,  but  on 
analysis,  Weir,  they  turn  out  to  be  aspects  only,  not 
real  arguments.  Assuming  the  facts  are  as  you  relate, 
which  I  personally  don't  doubt,  these  men,  if  they  will 
stop  at  nothing  to  injure  you,  will  be  no  more  reluctant 
to  injure  us.  In  fact,  if  you  withdrew  they  would  feel 
that  they  had  gained  a  distinct  triumph,  forced  us  to 
yield  to  their  will,  and  would  be  inspired  to  further  and 
greater  opposition.  Personal  hatred  for  you  on  their 
pa,rt  is  no  ground  for  their  fixing  their  enmity  on  the 
company.  But  that  enmity,  apparently,  already  existed 
before  you  came.  Therefore  if  they  hate  you  likewise, 
you  and  our  company  have  a  common  bond.  And  that 
assures  us  of  one  thing,  or  several  things :  your  vigilance, 
care  of  company  property,  and  loyalty.  Last,  and 
aside  from  that,  you  are,  I  am  confident,  possessed  of 
the  exact  qualities  essential  to  the  successful  solution  of 
present  difficulties.  We  prefer  as  manager  an  energetic, 
determined,  fighting  man,  however  much  disliked  by  en- 
vious neighbors,  to  some  fellow  less  firm  and  more  in- 


ANXIETIES  205 

clined  to  conciliation.  The  latter  never  gained  anything 
with  out-and-out  foes,  from  what  I've  seen.  So  you  per- 
ceive, Weir,  that  when  my  associates  and  I  get  into  a 
row  we're  not  quitters  either.  We  shall  therefore  just 
dismiss  all  talk  of  your  resignation." 

"Very  good ;  I  wanted  you  to  know  the  facts." 

Pollock  paced  to  and  fro  for  a  time  longer. 

"What  really  interests  me  is  your  own  fight,"  he  re- 
marked at  length.  "If  the  paper  you  spoke  of  should 
be  found,  I  would  be  pleased  to  have  it  translated  for 
you.  I  should  also  like  to  consult  with  this  man  Mar- 
tinez ;  he  seems  a  clever  fellow.  You  expect  to  settle  with 
this  quartet  who  defrauded  your  father,  of  course." 

"Certainly.  But  the  money  isn't  the  main  thing.  For 
no  amount  of  money  would  ever  pay  for  the  wrong  done 
my  father.  I  want  to  make  these  men  suffer,  suffer  as 
he  suffered.  Call  it  a  simple  desire  for  revenge  if  you 
will;  that's  what  it  really  is.  They  robbed  him  of  his 
future  as  well  as  of  his  ranch  and  cattle.  They  took 
away  hope  and  implanted  in  his  breast  terror  and  remorse 
wholly  undeserved.  But  for  them  he  might  have  been  a 
happy,  prosperous,  well-thought  of  man  in  this  state. 
Yes,  revenge  is  what  I  want,  not  money.  Revenge  that 
will  be  for  them  an  equivalent  of  hell." 

"But  they  should  pay  the  legal  penalties  of  their 
crime  as  well,"  the  lawyer  spoke.  "Recovery  of  the 
original  amounts  gained  by  fraud  from  both  your 
father  and  this  man  Dent,  and  accumulated  interest  as 
well  as  damages,  should  be  had.  In  all  it  should  make 
a  large  amount." 

"I  suppose  so.  Probably  enough  to  clean  the  four 
men  out.  But  though  of  course  I  should  enjoy  getting 
the  property  or  money  that  was  rightfully  my  father's 
and  now  mine,  still  I'd  let  that  go  if  I  could  secure  the 


206    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

satisfaction  of  making  the  four  men  pay  in  the  coin  I 
want." 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Weir.  Don't  overlook  any  bets,  as 
the  saying-  is.  Taking  their  property  away  from  them 
will  but  add  to  their  pain  and  to  your  pleasure.  Now 
we  must  see  if  Dent's  heirs  can  be  found.  I  suggest 
that  you  employ  some  good  attorney  to  start  a  hunt 
along  that  line,  for  an  action  by  Dent's  relatives  will 
indirectly  strengthen  your  own  case.  I'm  doubtful 
about  one  thing,  however " 

"What  is  that?" 

"Your  courts  here,  and  the  value  of  this  old  Mexi- 
can's deposition.  The  case  could  be  brought  in  a  Fed- 
eral Court  as  you're  a  non-resident,  which  would  solve 
the  first  point,  but  how  much  weight  would  this  Mexi- 
can's testimony  have  against  white  men  of  standing  and 
after  a  period  of  thirty  years.  If  you  could  find  an- 
other witness " 

"There  was  one,  a  white  boy,  so  Martinez  hinted," 
Weir  said. 

"Find  him,  find  him.  Search  the  whole  country  until 
you  find  him !" 

"That's  a  big  undertaking,  when  I  don't  even  know 
his  name  or  whether  he's  alive." 

"Begin  nevertheless." 

"Well,  I  had  better  find  my  lost  paper  or  secure  an- 
other statement  from  old  Saurez  first.  At  present  I  have 
absolutely  nothing  that  a  court  would  look  at ;  I  haven't 
as  much  as  I  had  yesterday.  And  even  Martinez  has 
been  spirited  away." 

Pollock  smiled. 

"I'm  interested,  greatly  interested,"  he  said.  "I'm 
not  actively  engaged  in  legal  affairs  at  home  and  I  may 
stay  on  here  awhile  longer.  Perhaps  I  can  assist  you; 


ANXIETIES  207 

it  promises  excitement,  at  any  rate.  After  dry  corpora- 
tion matters,  it  should  be  a  refreshing  change — and  I 
haven't  had  a  real  vacation  in  years.  Possibly  this  is 
the  time  to  take  one." 

"I  appreciate  your  kindness  in  speaking  so,  Mr.  Pol- 
lock." 

"But  I'm  quite  selfish;  I'm  seeking  entertainment. 
And  your  peppery  affairs  promise  it.  Do  you  give  me 
permission  to  take  a  hand?" 

"Gladly." 

"Then  as  a  beginning  I'll  go  to  town.  Saurez,  you 
say,  was  the  old  Mexican's  name?  And  give  me  the 
facts  again  as  you  know  them  about  the  affair  of  your 
father  and  the  man  Dent  in  the  saloon." 

Pollock  listened  closely  as  Steele  Weir  repeated  the 
story. 

"That's  all  I  know,  and  it's  meager  at  best,"  the  en- 
gineer concluded. 

"Pity  you  didn't  get  to  read  the  deposition,  which 
would  have  increased  your  fund  of  information.  More 
unfortunate  it  is  that  you  haven't  the  paper  itself.  But 
we'll  do  the  best  we  can  without  it  for  the  present.  Kindly 
have  some  one  drive  me  in  to  San  Mateo." 

"Atkinson,  the  superintendent,  is  going  there  for 
me.  I  thought  he  might  pick  up  something  of  Martinez' 
whereabouts."1 

"Where  does  Judge  Gordon  live?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  that.  But  you  can  easily  learn  when 
you  reach  town." 

"Well,  the  Judge  used  to  handle  company  matters, 
you  know."  The  smile  on  Pollock's  lips  was  inscrutable. 
"I  used  to  have  frequent  conferences  with  him  when  I  was 
here  at  the  inception  of  our  project.  He  is  very 
shrewd  in  certain  ways,  but  he  impressed  me  as  being 


208     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

not   exactly — what   shall  I   say? — 'cold   steel*,  for  in- 
stance."   And  still  wearing  the  thin  smile,  he  went  out. 

If  Weir  had  not  had  so  many  things  to  make  his 
mind  grave,  from  a  missing  paper  and  a  missing  lawyer 
to  mysterious  whiskey  and  fierce  enemies,  he  would  have 
leaned  back  and  laughed. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE   WEAK   IJNK 

THOUGH  the  sun  was  bright  that  day,  unseen  forces 
were  gathering  in  the  sky  above  town,  mesa  and  moun- 
tains, not  of  weather  but  of  fate,  to  loose  their 
lightnings.  Sunday  peace  seemed  to  reign,  the  languid 
summer  Sunday  peace  of  tranquil  nature.  Yet  even 
through  this  there  was  a  faint  breath  of  impending 
events,  a  quiver  or  excitement  in  the  air,  an  increasing 
expectation  on  the  part  of  men,  who  sensed  but  did  not 
realize  what  was  to  come. 

All  day  whispers  and  hints  had  passed  among  the 
people  in  San  Mateo  and  out  to  isolated  farms  and  up 
nearby  creeks,  kindling  in  the  ignorant,  brown-skinned 
Mexicans  a  lively  interest  and  an  exorbitant  curiosity. 
Nothing  was  said  definitely ;  nothing  was  promised  out- 
right. So  in  consequence  speculation  ran  wild  and  ru- 
mors wilder.  The  hints  had  to  do  with  the  manager  of 
the  dam  who  had  shot  the  strange  Mexican:  something 
was  to  be  done  with  him,  something  was  to  happen  to  him. 
He  had  been  arrested,  or  was  to  be  arrested ;  he  had  con- 
fessed, or  was  about  to  confess  the  murder ;  he  was  going 
to  kill  other  Mexicans,  or  had  killed  other  Mexicans ;  he 
was  about  to  raid  San  Mateo  with  his  workmen  and  slay 
the  town ;  he  was  to  be  hanged ; — and  so  on  eternally. 
Uncertain  as  was  everything  else,  what  was  sure  appar- 
ently was  that  something  would  happen  at  San  Mateo 
that  night. 

209 


210     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

Families  visiting  about  in  wagons  spread  the  news. 
Horsemen  were  at  pains  to  ride  to  outlying  Mexican 
ranch  houses,  for  what  messenger  is  so  welcome  as  he 
who  brings  tales  of  great  doings?  He  might  be  sure  of 
an  audience  at  once.  So  it  was  that  the  plan  craftily  put 
in  operation  by  Weir's  enemies,  to  gather  and  inflame  the 
people,  under  cover  of  whose  pressure  and  excitement 
when  the  engineer  was  arrested  he  might  be  slain  by  a 
pretended  rescue  or  popular  demonstration,  whichever 
should  serve  best,  produced  the  expected  result.  During 
the  afternoon  wagons  and  horsemen  and  men  on  foot 
began  to  appear  in  town,  to  join  already  aroused  rela- 
tives or  friends  at  their  adobe  houses  or  to  loaf  along 
the  main  street  in  groups. 

Outwardly  there  were  few  signs  in  the  aspect  of  the 
Mexican  folk  of  something  extraordinary  developing. 
But  to  the  sheriff,  Madden,  aroused  from  an  afternoon 
nap  at  his  home  by  a  telephoned  message  from  the  county 
attorney  requesting  him  to  come  to  the  court  house,  the 
unwonted  number  in  the  town  was  in  itself  a  significant 
fact. 

"I  didn't  know  this  was  a  fiesta,  Alvarez.  What's  up 
with  you  people?"  he  asked  of  one  he  met  on  the  street. 

"The  fiesta  is  to  be  to-night,  eh?"  the  man  laughed. 
"Have  you  this  engineer  locked  up  yet?" 

"What  engineer?" 

"The  killer,  the  gun-man,  that  Weir.  It  is  said  he  is 
already  arrested  ana  is  to  be  hanged  from  the  big  cot- 
tonwood  at  dark  beside  the  jail.  It  is  also  said  he  is 
still  loose  and  bringing  five  hundred  workmen  to  burn 
the  town,  rob  the  bank,  kill  the  men  and  steal  the  girls." 

"If  he  is  to  do  either,  it's  news  to  me,"  Madden  said, 
and  proceeded  to  the  office  of  Lucerio,  the  county  attor- 
ney. 


THE  WEAK  LINK  211 

Madden  was  a  blunt  man,  who  for  policy's  sake  might 
close  his  eyes  to  unimportant  political  influence  as  ex- 
ercised by  the  Sorenson  crowd.  But  he  was  no  mere 
compliant  tool.  This  was  his  first  term  in  office.  He  had 
never  yet  crossed  swords  with  the  cattleman  and  the 
others  associated  with  him,  because  the  occasion  had 
never  arisen.  When  he  had  allowed  himself  to  be  nomi- 
nated for  sheriff,  though  Sorenson  might  imagine 
Madden  to  be  at  his  orders,  the  latter  had  accepted  the 
office  with  certain  well-defined  ideas  of  his  duty. 

"What  do  you  want  of  me?"  he  asked  Lucerio,  for 
whom  he  had  little  liking. 

"I  desire  to  tell  you,  Madden,  that  at  eight  o'clock 
I'll  have  a  warrant  for  you  to  serve  on  the  engineer 
Weir.  You'll  go  to  the  dam  and  arrest  him  and  bring 
him  in  to  the  jail." 

"Well,  apparently  the  whole  country  except  me  knew 
this  was  to  happen.  The  town's  filling  up  as  if  it  were 
going  to  be  a  bull-fight." 

"I  know  nothing  of  that." 

"All  right;  give  me  the  warrant." 

"At  eight  o'clock.    I  don't  want  it  served  before  then." 

"Why?" 

"I  have  my  reasons." 

"Sorenson?  And  Vorse  and  Burkhardt?  They've 
stirred  up  this  charge  against  the  man."  Lucerio  mak- 
ing an  angry  answer,  he  continued.  "Well,  everybody 
knows  you  jump  when  they  pull  the  string.  I'll  have 
to  serve  the  warrant,  naturally.  But  I'm  going  to  tell 
you  what  I  think :  you've  faked  the  evidence  you've  got ; 
we  had  the  truth  from  Martinez  and  Janet  Hosmer  at 
the  inquest;  you're  trying  to  railroad  Weir  to  the  gal- 
lows." 

"Mr.  Sorenson  shall  know  what  you've  said.     As  for 


212     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

me" — the  Mexican  swelled  with  outraged  dignity — 
"the  evidence  was  placed  in  my  hands.  It  warrants  the 
engineer's  arrest  and  trial.  You  attend  to  your  de- 
partment and  I'll  attend  to  mine." 

"All  to  the  good,  Mr.  County  Attorney.  I'll  arrest 
him;  he  won't  make  me  any  trouble  on  that  score.  But 
you  won't  find  it  so  easy  to  prove  his  guilt.  And  after- 
wards, just  look  out,  for  if  he  doesn't  come  gunning  for 
you  and  fill  your  carcass  full  of  lead,  I  miss  my  guess. 
You  won't  be  able  to  hide  behind  Sorenson,  either." 

He  left  the  county  attorney  at  that,  the  latter  un- 
able despite  all  his  efforts  to  hide  his  uneasiness  and 
alarm.  Madden  reaching  the  street  looked  at  his  watch ; 
it  was  half  past  five,  so  he  started  home  for  supper. 

Some  way  before  him  he  saw  Martinez  walking.  The 
lawyer  did  not  stop  to  converse  with  any  of  the  loiterers 
along  the  street,  but  moved  steadily  along.  He  had 
come  out  of  Vorse's  saloon  and  was  going  towards  his 
office.  Just  then  the  sound  of  an  automobile  caused 
Madden  to  turn  his  head  in  time  to  see  Weir  speed  along 
but  stop  with  a  sudden  application  of  brakes  as  he 
caught  sight  of  the  attorney. 

A  hail  brought  Martinez  to  the  car.  A  few  minutes' 
rapid  speech  there  followed.  Then  the  lawyer  mounted 
beside  Weir,  the  machine  went  on,  turning  into  a  side 
street  and  vanishing.  To  Madden  there  was  nothing  un- 
usual in  the  circumstance,  and  he  only  noted  the  sur- 
prise and  silence  along  the  street  at  the  engineer's  pas- 
sage. The  Mexicans  would  know  the  man  wasn't  yet  ar- 
rested at  any  rate,  he  thought.  But  he  should  like  to 
learn  what  was  the  purpose  in  bringing  them  all  to  town ! 
He  would  keep  an  eye  open  for  any  lynching  nonsense 
if  it  were  attempted. 

Weir  and  Martinez  were  hastening  to  Judge  Gordon's 


THE  WEAK  LINK  213 

house,  for  shortly  before  the  engineer  had  received  an 
unexpected  call  from  Pollock  for  him  to  join  him  there. 
Evidently  the  eastern  lawyer  had  turned  a  card  of  some 
sort;  and  Weir  had  gone  at  once,  wondering  what  the 
meeting  might  portend.  The  sight  of  Martinez,  free  and 
composed  of  bearing,  walking  along  the  street,  further 
amazed  him. 

He  perceived,  however,  when  the  lawyer  stepped  out 
to  the  car  from  Vorse's  place  that  he  was  pale,  his  mouth 
tight-drawn  and  his  eyes  glittering. 

"You  got  my  message?"  the  latter  asked,  quickly. 

"The  telephone  message,  yes.  Janet  Hosmer  got  the 
paper  also." 

"They  dragged  me  to  Vorse's  cellar,"  Martinez  whis- 
pered fiercely.  "They  beat  me  with  their  fists,  Vorse  and 
Burkhardt.  Then  they  tied  me  and  squeezed  my  eye- 
balls till  I  could  stand  the  pain  no  longer  and  told.  I've 
been  there  ever  since,  bound  and  without  food  or  water, 
the  devils!  Sorenson  came  with  them  last  night,  after- 
wards. And  now  he  and  Vorse  came  again — there  they 
are  back  there  in  the  bar  yet — and  gave  me  a  draft  on  a 
Chicago  bank  for  a  thousand  dollars  and  said  to  get  out 
and  stay  out  of  New  Mexico  and  never  open  my  mouth 
about  what  had  happened." 

"Get  in  with  me,"  Weir  ordered. 

At  Judge  Gordon's  house  the  lawyer  said: 

"You  are  going  in  here?    He's  one  of  them." 

"I  know  it.  Come  in,  however.  I  may  need  you. 
You're  not  going  to  leave  San  Mateo,  but  there's  no  rea- 
son why  you  shouldn't  cash  the  draft.  That's  only  part 
of  the  damages  you'll  make  them  pay  for  what  you  un- 
derwent." 

"It  isn't  money  I  want  from  them,"  Martinez  replied, 
between  his  teeth. 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

Judge  Gordon  lived  in  a  rambling  adobe  house  two 
squares  from  the  Hosmer  dwelling.  It  was  old  but  had 
been  kept  in  good  repair,  and  as  he  had  never  married 
he  had  lived  comfortably  enough  with  an  old  Mexican 
pair  as  servants.  One  of  these,  the  woman,  admitted  the 
visitors  at  their  knock  and  conducted  them,  as  if  ex- 
pected, to  the  Judge's  study,  a  long  room  lined  with 
cases  of  books,  mostly  legal,  and  filled  with  old-fashioned 
furniture. 

That  something  had  occurred  to  change  the  Judge's 
aspect  during  the  hours  in  which  Pollock  had  been 
closeted  with  him  was  at  once  apparent.  He  looked 
older,  broken,  haggard  of  face,  terrified. 

"I  met  Mr.  Martinez  and  brought  him  along,"  Weir 
said. 

"Was  that  necessary?"  Judge  Gordon  asked,  heavily. 

"He's  my  attorney,  for  one  thing." 

"And  I've  been  a  prisoner  in  Vorse's  cellar  for  twenty- 
four  hours  for  another,  and  you're  one  of  those  respon- 
sible for  my  being  there  and  for  the  torture  to  which 
I  was  subjected,"  Martinez  exclaimed,  glaring. 

"Mr.  Martinez,  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor  that 
I  knew  nothing  of  youi  incarceration  until  this  morn- 
ing." 

"That  for  your  word  of  honor!"  the  lawyer  cried, 
snapping  his  fingers  in  the  air.  "And  in  any  case,  you're 
an  accessory  alter  the  fact.  You  let  me  stay." 

Pollock  stepped  forward. 

"Is  this  Mr.  Martinez?  Glad  to  meet  you,  sir.  Mr. 
Weir  has  spoken  very  favorably  of  you  and  of  your 
handling  of  legal  matters  for  the  irrigation  company,  of 
which  I  am  a  director.  Pollock  is  my  name.  Are  you  a 
notary?  \h,  that  is  good.  There  will  be  some  papers 
to  acknowledge  and  witness  and  so  on." 


THE  WEAK  LINK  215 

He  pointed  at  seats,  seemingly  having  direction  of 
matters,  and  the  visitors  sat  down.  Judge  Gordon  had 
sagged  down  in  the  padded  leather  chair  in  which 
he  sat;  his  face  was  colorless,  his  eyes  moving  aim- 
lessly to  and  fro,  his  white  mustache  and  hair  in  dis- 
order. 

"Let  us  begin  on  business  at  once,"  Pollock  stated,  on 
his  feet  as  was  usual  when  entering  a  discussion  and 
removing  his  eye-glasses.  "I  called  on  Judge  Gordon 
this  afternoon  after  my  talk  with  you,  Weir,  and  dis- 
closed the  evidence  which  has  been  gathered  relative  to 
the  fraud  perpetrated  on  your  father  and  the  crime 
against  the  man  Dent.  I  assumed,  and  rightly,  that  to  a 
man  of  the  Judge's  legal  mind  the  facts  we  hold  would 
prove  the  futility  of  resistance,  and  I  set  out  to  con- 
vince him  of  the  wisdom  of  sparing  himself  a  long  losing 
fight,  in  which  he  would  be  opposing  not  only  the  evi- 
dence which  was  sure  to  convict  him,  and  not  only  you, 
Mr.  Weir,  but  our  company  which  proposed  to  see  the 
fight  through.  I  went  so  far,  Weir,  as  to  promise  him 
immunity  from  your  wrath  and  from  pubb'c  prosecu- 
tion." 

Weir  arose  slowly. 

"No,"  said  he,  "no." 

"But,  my  dear  fellow " 

"No.  He  made  my  father's  life  a  hell  for  thirty  years. 
Why  should  I  spare  him?" 

"If  granting  him  freedom  from  prosecution  did  ac- 
tually spare  him  anything,  I  should  say  'No'  also,  stand- 
ing in  your  place.  But  with  the  facts  made  public  as 
they  will  be,  with  Judge  Gordon  losing  his  legislative 
office  and  the  esteem  in  which  he  had  been  held,  with  him 
relinquishing  the  bulk  of  his  fortune  as  he  agrees,  with 
his  finding  it  necessary  to  go  elsewhere  to  live  at  his  time 


216    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

of  life,  with  the  thought  constantly  in  his  mind  of  how 
low  he  has  been  brought,  don't  you  think  he  will  be  suf- 
fering quite  adequately?  I  should  think  so.  He  would 
probably  die  quicker  in  prison,  but  I  believe  he  will  suffer 
more  outside.  See,  I  don't  hesitate  to  measure  the  alter- 
natives, for  the  Judge  and  I  have  discussed  and  canvassed 
the  whole  situation,  which  was  necessary,  of  course,  in 
order  to  arrive  at  a  clear  understanding."  And  Pollock 
smiled  genially. 

"Does  he  admit  my  charges?" 

"He  hasn't  denied  them." 

"Will  he  admit  them?" 

"I've  outlined  exactly  what  we  must  have — deeds  to 
his  property  and  an  acknowledged  statement  of  the 
Joseph  Weir  and  James  Dent  affair,  supplementing  the 
Saurez  affidavit,  which  by  the  way  he  at  first  thought 
we  did  not  possess  but  which  an  account  of  what  hap- 
pened last  night  in  the  mountains  and  your  recovery  of 
the  same" — Pollock's  eyelid  dropped  for  an  instant 
towards  Weir — "convinced  him  of.  This  statement  is 
not  to  be  produced  as  evidence  against  his  associates 
except  in  the  last  extremity,  and  if  not  needed  is  always 
to  be  kept  secret.  We  are  to  give  him,  when  the  papers 
are  signed,  a  draft  for  ten  thousand  dollars.  This  will 
permit  him  to  have  something  to  live  on.  He  states  that 
he  will  want  to  go  from  San  Mateo  at  once." 

During  this  speech  Weir's  eyes  had  glanced  to  and 
fro  between  the  lawyer  ticking  off  his  words  with  his 
glasses  and  the  figure  in  the  leather  chair.  Old  and 
shattered  as  Judge  Gordon  had  suddenly  become, 
wretched  as  Weir  saw  him  to  be,  the  engineer  nevertheless 
felt  no  pity.  The  man  had  been  in  the  conspiracy  that 
had  ruined  his  father;  he  suffered  now  not  because  of 
remorse  but  through  fear  of  public  opinion ;  and  was  a 


THE  WEAK  LINK  217 

fox  turned  craven  because  he  found  himself  enmeshed 
in  a  net.  And  to  save  his  own  skin  he  was  selling  out 
his  friends. 

Weir's  face  went  dark,  but  Pollock  quickly  stepped 
forward  and  drew  him  into  a  corner  of  the  room. 

"Keep  calm,  man,"  was  the  lawyer's  low  advice.  "Do 
you  think  if  we  had  him  tied  up  as  tightly  as  I've  made 
him  believe  that  I  should  propose  a  compromise  in  his 
case.  He's  the  weak  link.  Do  you  think  I've  had  an 
easy  time  the  last  three  hours  bringing  him  to  the  point 
he's  at?  I  had  to  invent  evidence  that  couldn't  possibly 
exist.  I  had  to  give  him  a  merciless  mental  'third  degree.' 
I  told  him  if  he  refused  I  was  going  to  Sorenson  with 
the  same  offer,  who  would  jump  at  the  chance.  And,  my 
dear  man,  we  haven't,  in  reality,  enough  proof  to  convict 
a  mouse  since  you  lost  that  paper.  So  now,  so  far  as 
he's  concerned,  you  must  bend  a  little,  a  very  little — and 
you'll  be  able  to  hang  the  remaining  three." 

This  incisive  reasoning  was  not  to  be  denied. 

"I  yield,"  said  Weir. 

Beaming,  Mr.  Pollock  walked  back  to  the  table. 

"Mr.  Weir  consents,"  he  stated.  "Mr.  Martinez,  if 
you  will  go  to  your  office  and  bring  the  necessary  forms 
and  your  seal  we  can  make  the  transfers  and  statement 
and  wind  the  matter  up." 

An  hour  later  Judge  Gordon  had  signed  the  deeds, 
stock  certificates  from  his  safe  and  bills  of  sale  spread 
before  him,  passing  the  ownership  of  lands,  cattle  and 
shares  in  companies  to  Pollock  for  equitable  division 
between  Weir  and  the  Dent  heirs  if  found.  The  old 
Mexican  servants  were  called  in  and  witnessed  his  shaky 
signatures  to  the  papers. 

At  the  statement  regarding  the  Dent  shooting  and 
Weir  fraud,  which  Pollock  had  dictated  to  Martinez  with- 


218    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

Gordon's  assistance,  he  staggered  to  his  feet  while  the 
pen  dropped  from  his  hand. 

"I  can't  sign  it,  I  can't  sign  it ;  they  would  kill  me !"  he 
groaned. 

The  two  aged  servants  stared  at  him  wonderingly. 

"My  dear  Judge,  they'll  never  know  of  it  until  it's 
too  late  for  them  to  do  anything — if  they  ever  know," 
came  the  easterner's  words,  in  smooth  persuasiveness. 

Judge  Gordon  brushed  a  hand  over  his  eyes. 

"Give  me  a  moment,"  he  muttered. 

He  stood  for  a  time  motionless.  Then  he  walked  across 
the  room  and  opened  a  door  and  entered  an  inner  cham- 
ber. 

"He  won't  live  a  year  after  this,"  Pollock  whispered 
to  his  companions. 

The  speaker  could  have  shortened  the  time  immensely 
and  have  still  been  safe  in  his  prophecy.  For  when  at  the 
end  of  five  minutes  he  sent  the  woman  to  request  the 
Judge  to  return,  she  stumbled  out  of  the  bed-chamber 
with  affrighted  eyes.  She  said  the  Judge  was  asleep  on 
his  bed  and  could  not  be  aroused. 

Sleep  of  the  profoundest,  the  men  discovered  on  going 
in.  And  in  his  fingers  was  an  empty  vial.  So  far  as 
Judge  Gordon  was  concerned  Weir  had  had  his  revenge. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

AN   OLD  ADOBE  HOUSE 

REVENGE  Weir  had.  But  even  in  death  Judge  Gordon, 
true  to  his  evasive,  contriving  character,  had  tricked 
him ;  and  the  irony  lay  in  the  fact  that  in  this  last  act 
the  trick  was  unpremeditated,  unconscious,  unintentional. 
Instead  of  the  signed  confession,  necessary  above  every- 
thing else,  which  seemed  almost  in  his  fingers,  the  man 
had  left  a  little  poison  vial. 

Night  had  settled  over  the  earth  when  the  three  men, 
after  directing  the  Mexican  servants  to  bring  the  under- 
taker, went  out  of  the  house,  for  considerable  time  had 
been  occupied  in  the  discussion  and  the  preparation  of 
papers  preceding  Judge  Gordon's  tragic  end.  With 
him  Mr.  Pollock  carried  the  documents  pertaining  to  the 
property  restitution.  These,  considered  in  connection 
with  the  suicide,  would  constitute  something  like  a  con- 
fession, he  grimly  asserted. 

Avoiding  the  main  street  of  San  Mateo  they  drove  out 
of  the  town  for  camp.  The  first  part  of  the  ride  was 
pursued  in  silence,  for  each  was  busy  with  his  own 
thoughts  in  consequence  of  the  sudden  shocking  termi- 
nation of  the  meeting.  When  about  half  way  to  camp, 
however,  their  attention  was  taken  from  the  subject  by 
a  sight  wholly  unexpected,  a  scene  of  high  colors  and  of 
a  spirit  that  mocked  at  what  had  just  happened. 

Some  way  off  from  the  road,  at  one  side,  two  bonfires 
burned  brightly  before  an  adobe  house,  the  flames  leap- 

219 


220     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

ing  upward  in  the  darkness  and  lighting  the  long  low- 
roofed  dwelling  and  the  innumerable  figures  of  persons. 
At  the  distance  the  place  was  from  the  highway,  perhaps 
two  hundred  yards,  one  could  make  out  only  the  shadowy 
forms  of  men — of  a  considerable  number  of  men,  at  that. 

"I  never  saw  any  one  at  that  old  tumble-down  house 
before,  Martinez,"  Weir  remarked,  lessening  the  speed 
of  the  car.  "Always  supposed  it  empty." 

"No  one  does  live  there.  The  ground  belongs  to 
Vorse,  who  leases  it  for  farming  to  Oterez.  Perhaps 
Oterez  is  giving  a  party  there.  They  are  dancing." 

Weir  brought  the  machine  to  a  full  stop,  with  sus- 
picion rapidly  growing  in  his  mind.  The  place  was 
owned  by  Vorse,  for  one  thing,  and  the  number  about  the 
house  was  too  large  for  an  ordinary  Mexican  family 
merry-making,  for  another.  In  view  of  what  had  oc- 
curred the  previous  night  all  "parties"  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  dam  deserved  inquiry,  and  this  house  was  but 
a  mile  from  camp. 

They  could  now  hear  the  sound  of  music,  the  shrill 
quick  scrap  of  a  pair  of  fiddles  and  the  notes  of  guitars. 
Against  the  fire-light  too  they  could  distinguish  the  whirl 
of  skirts. 

"Just  run  over  there,  will  you,  Martinez,  and  have  a 
look  at  that  dance  ?"  Weir  said.  "See  how  much  whiskey 
is  there,  and  who  the  people  are." 

The  Mexican  jumped  down,  climbed  through  the  barb- 
wire  fence  bordering  the  field  and  disappeared  towards 
the  house. 

"I  told  you  about  some  one  giving  the  men  booze  last 
night,"  the  engineer  addressed  his  remaining  companion. 
"We  found  the  place  off  south  along  the  hills  where  that 
business  happened,  and  stationed  a  man  there  to  warn 
us  if  another  attempt  was  made  to  use  the  spot.  But  I 


221 

shouldn't  be  surprised  if  this  is  the  location  used  for 
to-night;  it  has  all  the  signs.  We  suspected  that  this 
evening  would  be  the  real  blow-out  and  if  the  men  are 
going  there  I  shall  send  down  the  foremen  and  engineers 
to  break  it  up.  Vorse's  owning  this  house  and  his  being 
the  source  of  the  liquor  is  almost  proof.  I  met  Atkinson 
returning  to  the  dam  when  you  sent  him  back  from  town 
and  he'll  know  something  is  up  if  the  workmen  have  been 
melting  away  from  camp.  This  is  simply  another  damn- 
ably treacherous  move  of  the  gang  against  us  to  inter- 
fere with  our  work,  starting  a  big  drunk  and  perhaps  a 
row.  We'll  stop  it  right  at  the  beginning." 

"Are  the  officials  of  this  county  so  completely  under 
Sorenson  and  his  crowd's  thumbs  that  they  won't  move 
in  a  case  like  this?"  Pollock  questioned. 

"Yes." 

"Then  we  must  act  on  our  own  initiative,  as  you  say." 

"That's  our  only  recourse.  Giving  whiskey  isn't  ac- 
tually an  illegal  act — and  they're  giving  it  away,  not 
trying  to  sell  it  here  without  a  government  licence." 

"The  thing's  illegal  if  it's  part  of  a  conspiracy  to  dis- 
rupt our  work,  and  if  we  can  secure  proof  that  such  is 
the  fact  it  will  but  add  one  more  item  to  the  score  to  be 
settled  with  these  San  Mateo  outlaws." 

"There  are  more  men  going  there.  See  them?"  Weir 
asked.  "You  hear  them  on  the  road  ahead  of  us. 
They're  ducking  through  the  fence  and  crossing  to  the 
house.  Our  workmen.  The  thing's  plain  now ;  they  had 
word  there  would  be  another  'party'  to-night,  but  they 
didn't  know  just  where  until  they  received  word  this 
evening.  I  suppose  the  whole  camp  except  a  few  men 
will  be  here." 

"Won't  they  turn  ugly  if  you  interfere?" 

"Can't  help  that.     I'll  send  men  down  with  axes  and 


222     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

when  the  booze  is  poured  on  the  ground  it  makes  no  dif- 
ference then;  the  men  will  be  kept  sober.  If  they  are 
stubborn,  I'll  run  a  new  bunch  in  and  fire  these  fellows. 
But  I  don't  imagine  they  will  quit  work,  however  surly, 
for  they  know  whiskey's  no  excuse.  Men  usually  cool 
down  after  a  night's  sleep." 

From  where  they  sat  and  since  Weir  had  turned  out 
his  car  lamps,  they  could  see  the  steady  string  of  men 
emerging  from  the  darkness  of  the  field  and  approach- 
ing the  house,  to  quickly  dissolve  in  the  gathering  al- 
ready there.  In  their  lively  steps,  as  well  as  in  the  eager 
voices  occasionally  raised  along  the  dark  road,  the  men's 
desire  to  join  in  the  debauch  was  apparent. 

With  the  swelling  of  the  crowd  the  scraping  of  the 
fiddles  became  louder,  the  dancing  more  furious,  shouts 
and  yells  more  frequent,  while  a  dense  line  of  men  passing 
and  jamming  in  and  out  of  the  door  pointed  only  too 
plainly  that  inside  the  house  liquor  flowed.  This  would 
be  no  matter  of  a  few  drinks  per  man,  but  a  big  drunk 
if  not  stopped. 

Martinez  confirmed  this  opinion  on  his  return. 

"There  are  two  barrels  inside  and  a  couple  of  fellows 
are  dipping  it  up  in  tin  cups  like  water,"  said  he. 
"They're  not  even  troubling  to  draw  the  stuff ;  the  bar- 
rels have  been  placed  on  end  and  the  heads  knocked  out. 
It  will  be  the  biggest  spree  San  Mateo  ever  saw,  with 
plenty  of  fighting  after  awhile.  Women,  you  know,  al- 
ways start  fights  during  a  spree." 

"Those  surely  are  not  women  from  town,"  Weir  ex- 
claimed. 

"Oh,  no.  I  never  saw  them  before.  Brought  in  here 
from  somewhere — Santa  Fe  perhaps,  El  Paso  more 
likely.  You  know  the  kind  who  would  mix  with  that 
crowd — tough  girls.  They're  wearing  low  necks  and 


AN  OLD  ADOBE  HOUSE          223 

short  skirts,  red  stockings  and  all  that.  You  know  the 
kind.  Out  of  joints  and  dives  somewhere.  There's  only 
a  dozen,  but  they  keep  circulating  and  dancing  with  dif- 
ferent ones.  I  just  put  my  head  through  a  window  to 
look  inside,  which  is  lighted  by  a  big  kerosene  lamp 
hanging  from  the  roof ;  and  I  tell  you,  gentlemen,  it  made 
me  sick  the  way  those  two  fellows  were  dipping  up  whis- 
key and  the  crowd  drinking  it  down." 

"And  more  men  coming  all  the  time,"  Weir  stated. 

"And  more  coming,  yes.  It  will  be  very  bad  there  by 
midnight.  Vorse  and  Burkhardt  and  Sorenson  are  man- 
aging the  thing,  of  course."  Martinez  lighted  a  ciga- 
rette and  stepped  into  the  car.  "No  mistake  about  that, 
for  Vorse's  bartender  is  one  of  the  men  at  the  barrels. 
And  I  imagine  Judge  Gordon  knew  this  thing  was  com- 
ing off  though  he  made  no  mention  of  it." 

"Since  we  were  ignorant  of  the  matter,  he  naturally 
wouldn't  inform  us,"  Pollock  remarked,  dryly. 

"Time  to  put  a  stop  to  the  show  before  it  grows 
bad,"  Weir  stated  resolutely.  And  he  started  the  ma- 
chine. 

"If  it  can  be  stopped,"  Martinez  replied. 

That  was  the  question,  whether  or  not  now  it  would 
be  possible  even  to  reach  and  destroy  the  barrels  inside 
the  house,  what  with  the  numbers  who  would  oppose  the 
move  and  what  with  the  state  of  intoxication  that  must 
rapidly  prevail  at  the  place. 

For  as  they  drove  away  they  could  already  detect  in 
the  mad  revel  about  the  old  adobe  dwelling  a  faster  beat 
in  the  sharp  shrieking  music,  a  wilder  abandon  in  the 
movements  of  the  figures  about  the  flames,  a  more  reck- 
less, fiercer  note  in  the  cries  and  oaths. 

"This  is  deviltry  wholesale,"  Pollock  said.  "On  a 
grand  scale,  one  might  put  it." 


224     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

So  thought  a  horseman  who  approached  and  halted 
almost  at  the  same  spot  where  the  car  had  rested.  This 
was  Madden  who  with  a  warrant  for  Weir's  arrest  in 
his  pocket  had  arrived  opposite  the  house  a  moment 
after  the  automobile's  departure.  He  had  secured  the 
warrant  at  eight  o'clock  according  to  the  county  attor- 
ney's request,  but  he  had  taken  his  own  time  about 
setting  off  to  serve  it. 

For  a  quarter  of  a  mile  he  had  been  interested  in  the 
evidences  of  unwonted  hilarity  at  the  usually  untenanted 
structure.  Now  he  sat  in  his  saddle,  silent  and  motion- 
less, observing  the  distant  scene.  He  easily  guessed  the 
men  were  from  the  construction  camp  and  that  liquor 
was  running. 

"I  can  almost  smell  it  here,  Dick,"  he  addressed  his 
horse. 

But  two  circumstances  puzzled  him.  One  was  that 
there  had  been  no  news  in  town  of  such  a  big  affair  im- 
pending for  the  night;  the  second,  that  there  were 
women  present — for  no  Mexican,  however  ignorant, 
would  take  or  allow  his  women  folks  to  attend  such  a 
howling  show.  Coming  on  top  of  the  crowd  in  town,  he 
wondered  if  this  business  might  not  be  linked  up  with 
Weir's  affairs.  These  were  his  workmen  and  this  was 
Verse's  farm-house  and  very  likely  Vorse's  liquor.  After 
he  had  arrested  the  engineer  he  would  look  into  the  thing. 

Fifteen  minutes  later,  when  he  had  gone  on,  other 
passers-by  paused  for  a  minute  on  the  road  to  stare  at 
the  amazing  picture  across  the  field.  These  were  Dr. 
Hosmer  and  Janet,  Johnson  and  his  daughter  Mary :  the 
two  men  being  in  the  doctor's  car,  the  two  girls  in  Janet's 
runabout. 

"What  on  earth  is  going  on  there!"  Janet  exclaimed, 
when  the  two  machines  had  pulled  up. 


AN  OLD  ADOBE  HOUSE         225 

The  two  fires,  fed  by  fresh  fuel,  were  leaping  higher 
than  ever,  bringing  out  in  strong  relief  the  long  squat 
building,  the  dark,  restless,  noisy  throng,  and  the  space 
of  illuminated  earth.  Against  the  night  the  flames  and 
building  and  mob  of  hundreds  of  men  seemed  a  crimson 
vision  from  some  inferno  to  an  accompaniment  of  mad 
music. 

"The  camp's  gone  on  a  tear;  drive  ahead,"  her  father 
said.  "This  isn't  a  sight  for  you  girls  to  look  at." 

And  with  that  the  two  cars  sped  forward  towards 
the  dam,  where  on  this  night  so  much  was  converging. 
For  their  occupants  already  had  had  an  experience  that 
had  started  them  at  once  to  seek  the  man  around  whose 
figure  were  swirling  a  hundred  passions  and  dark  cur- 
rents of  destiny. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

WITH   FANGS   BAKED 

THAT  Sunday  afternoon  Janet  Hosmer  had  awakened 
about  sunset  from  an  after-dinner  sleep,  rested  and  re- 
freshed, with  her  mind  continuing  to  be  occupied  by 
thoughts  of  Steele  Weir  about  whom  had  eddied  her 
dreams.  The  man  was  no  longer  the  mystery  he  had 
been,  since  now  she  knew  all  the  circumstances  of  his 
life,  and  on  that  account  was  nearer,  more  human,  and 
yet  as  compelling. 

That  on  his  part  his  interest  went  beyond  mere  friend- 
ship she  had  recognized  from  his  voice  and  eyes  when 
they  were  together.  Ah,  in  truth,  how  his  tones  deepened 
and  his  look  betrayed  his  feelings !  At  the  thought 
Janet's  heart  beat  faster  and  her  cheeks  grew  warm  and 
an  indefinable  joy  seemed  to  fill  her  breast.  She  would 
not  deny  it:  his  presence,  his  touch  gave  her  a  greater 
happiness  than  she  had  ever  known.  At  a  single  stride, 
as  it  were,  he  had  come  into  the  middle  of  her  life  and 
dominated  her  mind  and  changed  her  whole  outlook. 

How  he  too  had  changed  and  grown  in  the  coming! 
From  the  avaricious,  calculating,  heartless  manager  of 
the  construction  work,  as  she  seeing  through  colored 
San  Mateo  eyes  had  believed  him  to  be,  he  now  stood 
forth  a  figure  of  power,  undaunted  by  difficulties,  un- 
dismayed by  enemies  however  numerous,  fearless  to  a 
fault,  stern  perhaps — but  who  would  not  have  been  made 
stern  in  his  place? — and  determined,  cool,  resourceful, 

226 


WITH  FANGS  BARED  227 

alert,  and  of  an  integrity  as  firm  and  upright  as  a 
marble  shaft.  Yet  beneath  this  exterior  his  heart  was 
quick  and  tender  for  those  who  needed  sympathy  or 
help,  and  his  hand  swift  to  aid. 

More  than  once  a  hot  flush  burned  on  Janet's  face, 
as  sitting  there  on  the  vine-hung  veranda  in  the  gather- 
ing dusk,  recollection  assailed  her  with  memories  of 
wasted  kindnesses  given  the  infamous  Ed  Sorenson,  of 
trust  bestowed  and  of  love  plighted.  That  passage  in 
her  life  seemed  to  leave  her  contaminated  forever.  It 
burned  in  her  soul  like  a  disgrace  or  a  dishonorable  act. 
But  Steele  Weir — and  she  swam  in  glorious  ether  at  the 
thought — did  not  appear  to  view  it  in  that  light. 

Juanita  running  in  the  twilight  to  the  house  inter- 
rupted her  introspection. 

"I  came  to  tell  you,"  the  Mexican  girl  exclaimed, 
panting  before  Janet. 

"Tell  me  what  ?"  For  Juanita's  reappearance  in  itself 
was  unusual,  as  Sunday  afternoon  and  evening  were  her 
own  to  spend  at  home. 

"People  are  saying  Mr.  Weir  is  to  be  arrested  and 
hanged  from  a  tree  in  the  court  house  yard !  Everybody 
has  come  to  town  to  see.  Three  uncles  and  aunts  and 
nine  cousins  of  ours  have  already  come  to  our  house 
from  where  they  live  four  miles  down  the  river.  All  the 
town  is  talking  about  it.  But  though  I  said  nothing,  I 
knew  how  Mr.  Weir  had  saved  you  and  that  he  had  done 
nothing  to  be  hanged  for.  If  anybody  is  to  be  killed  it 
ought  to  be  that  Ed  Sorenson." 

"Are  you  sure  of  this,  Juanita?" 

"Yes,  yes,  Miss  Janet.     It  is  so." 

"Then  this  is  part  of  the  plot  against  him;  let  me 
think.  They  might  arrest  him  but  they  would  never  dare 
try  to  hang  him,  unless  they  could  pretend " 


228    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

What  they  might  pretend  Janet  never  stated,  as  at 
that  instant  a  motor  car  dashed  up  and  stopped  before 
the  gate.  Even  in  the  gloom  she  made  out  that  the 
figure  garbed  in  a  gray  dust  coat  was  Sorenson's. 
Springing  out  of  the  machine,  he  jerked  the  gate  open 
and  strode  towards  the  house,  while  a  premonition  of 
a  fresh  and  unpleasant  turn  of  affairs  quivered  in  Janet's 
mind. 

"I've  come  back  again,  you  see,"  he  said.  "Step  inside 
where  you  can  hear  what  I  have  to  say." 

The  words  were  like  an  order;  the  man's  manner,  in- 
deed, was  overbearing  and  brutal.  But  the  girl  conceal- 
ing her  resentment,  preceded  him  into  the  house  and 
bade  Juanita  light  a  lamp. 

"And  now  you  get  out !"  Sorenson  commanded  the 
servant  in  so  savage  a  tone  that  she  fled  to  the  kitchen 
without  waiting  to  consult  Janet's  eyes.  "I  see  your 
father  isn't  here,"  he  continued,  addressing  Janet. 

The  latter  made  no  reply.  To  be  sure,  Dr.  Hosmer 
was  not  in  the  room  but  he  was  in  the  house,  sleeping. 
Let  the  cattleman  think  him  absent  if  he  wished. 

"So  much  the  better;  if  he's  not  about,  he  won't  try 
to  interfere,"  the  man  went  on.  "Now,  my  girl,  I've 
learned  all  about  your  tricks,  and " 

"Sir,  you  talk  like  that  to  me  in  my  own  house!" 
Janet  broke  in,  with  a  flash  of  eyes.  "You  will  walk 
out  of  that  door  this  instant  and  never  set  foot  here 
again." 

"Will  I,  you  slippery  young  Jezebel?  I'll  do  nothing 
of  the  kind  until  I'm  ready,  which  will  be  when  you've 
handed  over  that  paper.  Don't  try  to  deny  that  you 
have  it  or  Weir  has  it;  I  suppose  he  has  now,  and  I'll 
be  forced  to  go  shoot  him  down  as  he  deserves.  But  I 
came  here  first  to  make  sure.  It  would  be  just  like  the 


WITH  FANGS  BARED  229 

rest  of  the  schemes  of  you  two  to  have  you  keep  it,  think- 
ing I'd  be  fooled.  I  have  half  a  notion  to  wring  your 
white  neck  for  lying  to  me  to-day — lying,  while  all  the 
time  you  knew  my  son  was  hanging  between  life  and 
death." 

So  savage  was  his  voice,  so  threatening  his  visage  and 
air  that  Janet  retreated  a  step.  His  hands  worked  as 
if  he  actually  felt  her  soft  throat  in  his  clutch ;  his  huge 
body  and  big  beefy  head  swayed  towards  her  ominously ; 
while  his  eyes  carried  a  baleful  light  that  revealed  in  full 
intensity  the  man's  real  brutal  soul.  Hitherto  carefully 
coated  in  an  appearance  of  respectability  fitted  to  a 
station  of  wealth,  influence  and  prominence,  he  now  stood 
as  he  truly  was,  domineering,  repellant,  lawless.  Janet 
could  at  that  minute  measure  the  close  kinship  of  father 
and  son. 

"Fortunately  a  man  in  Bowenville  recognized  Ed,  or 
I  should  never  have  known  he  had  been  injured,"  Soren- 
son  went  on.  "So  your  little  scheme  to  keep  me  in  ig- 
norance went  wrong.  The  doctor  'phoned  me  about  five 
and  I  took  my  wife  and  we  rushed  there,  and  I  have  just 
this  instant  returned.  Do  you  know  what  the  doctor 
says  ?  Ed  will  live,  but  be  a  life  cripple,  a  useless  wreck, 
a  bundle  of  smashed  bones,  always  sitting  in  a  chair,  al- 
ways eating  out  his  heart.  And  all  because  of  you  and 
that  engineer !  Ed  was  conscious ;  he  told  me  the  real 
story  about  which  you  lied " 

"I  did  not  lie,"  Janet  stated,  firmly. 

Sorenson  made  an  angry  gesture  as  if  to  sweep  aside" 
this  declaration. 

"He  told  me  how  you  promised  to  slip  away  with  him 
to  spend  a  week  in  the  mountains,  and  how  you  warned 
this  Weir  so  that  the  two  of  you  could  trick  my  son  and 
get  him  out  of  the  way.  You,  who  always  pretended  to 


230    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

be  so  innocent  and  virtuous !  And  then  Weir  caused  the 
accident  up  there  in  the  hills  that  has  crippled  my  boy 
for  life !  Did  it  to  get  him  out  of  the  path  to  you,  and 
you  helped,  like  the  traitress  you  are;  and  the  two  of 
you  took  the  paper.'* 

Janet's  form  had  stiffened  at  these  insulting  speeches. 

"Your  son  is  the  liar,"  said  she.  "Did  he  tell  you  how 
he  flung  a  blanket  over  my  head  as  Juanita  and  I  were 
coming  out  of  Martinez*  office?  How  he  tied  my  hands 
and  feet  and  carried  me  off  like  a  victim — and  victim  he 
intended  me  to  be!  Yes,  Mr.  Weir  rescued  me  because 
Juanita  met  and  told  him  what  had  happened  and  he 
followed.  Your  son  was  drunk.  He  tried  to  commit  a 
crime  because  I  had  rejected  him  a  week  before,  on  learn- 
ing that  during  our  engagement  he  had  endeavored  to 
mislead  another  girl.  A  drunkard  and  a  criminal  both, 
that's  your  son.  And  he  alone  brought  on  his  accident 
by  his  drunken,  reckless  driving.  Now  I've  told  you  the 
truth ;  leave  the  house !" 

"You  can't  put  that  kind  of  a  story  over  on  me,"  he 
snarled.  "I  believe  what  Ed  said.  Even  if  he  has  had 
affairs  with  other  girls,  that  makes  no  difference  now. 
You  tried  to  double-cross  him ;  you've  wrecked  his  body 
and  life;  and  you  shall  pay  for  it." 

Neither  of  the  pair  in  their  intense  excitement  had 
heard  a  wagon  drive  to  a  stop  before  the  house.  Whether 
in  fact  they  would  have  heard  a  peal  of  thunder  might  be 
a  question.  Sorenson,  enraged  by  his  son's  injury  and 
burning  for  revenge,  was  oblivious  to  all  else  but  his 
passion,  while  Janet  Hosmer,  divided  between  contempt 
and  fear,  had  but  the  single  thought  of  ridding  herself 
of  the  man. 

"You  cannot  injure  me,"  she  said,  in  reply  to  his  sav- 
age utterance. 


WITH  FANGS  BARED  231 

"I'll  drive  you  and  your  father  out  of  this  town  and 
this  state,"  he  exclaimed.  "They  shall  know  here  in  San 
Mateo,  and  wherever  you  go  if  it's  in  my  power  to  reach 
there,  what  sort  of  a  pretending1,  double-faced,  disrepu- 
table wanton " 

"You  coward !"  Janet  burst  out. 

Then  she  turned  to  flee  out  of  the  room  to  arouse  her 
father.  But  Sorenson  was  too  quick  for  her ;  he  sprang 
forward  and  seized  one  of  her  wrists. 

"No  you  don't,  you  perfumed  wench !"  he  growled. 

A  scream  formed  on  Janet's  lips.  The  heavy,  rage- 
crimsoned  face  bent  over  her  as  if  to  kill  her  by  its  very 
nearness.  Brute  the  man  was,  and  as  a  brute  he  ap- 
peared determined  she  should  feel  his  power.  She  pulled 
back,  jerking  to  free  herself,  and  shrieked. 

Intervention  came  from  an  unexpected  quarter.  Rush- 
ing into  the  room  came  the  rancher  Johnson,  followed  by 
his  daughter. 

"Let  go  of  her,"  the  man  ordered,  harshly. 

Sorenson  looked  about  over  his  shoulder. 

"Keep  out  of  this,  and  get  out,"  he  answered. 

Johnson  leaped  forward  and  struck  the  other  on  the 
jaw.  The  cattleman  releasing  his  hold  on  Janet  stag- 
gered back,  at  the  same  time  thrusting  a  hand  under 
his  coat. 

But  the  rancher's  pistol  was  whipped  forth  first. 

"You'd  try  that  game,  would  you?"  Johnson  said,  with 
his  ragged  beard  out-thrust  and  stiff.  "Put  up  your 
hands ;  I  want  to  see  how  they  look  sticking  up  over 
your  head." 

Sorenson  though  now  holding  them  in  sight  did  not 
at  once  comply. 

"Johnson,  you're  butting  into  something  that  doesn't 
concern  you,"  he  said,  endeavoring  to  speak  calmly. 


232     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

"You've  made  one  mistake  in  striking  me ;  don't  make  an- 
other by  keeping  that  gun  pointed  at  my  head.  Remem- 
ber I've  a  mortgage  on  your  place  that  you'll  wish  re- 
newed one  of  these  days." 

The  expression  of  scorn  on  the  rancher's  face  was 
complete. 

"Trying  that  line,  are  you  ?"  he  sneered.  "Think  you 
can  play  the  money-lender  now  and  scare  me?  You 
didn't  look  much  like  a  banker  reaching  for  your  gun; 
you  just  looked  like  a  killer  then,  a  plain  bar-room  killer 
— but  I  beat  you  to  the  draw.  You've  got  fat  and  slow, 
haven't  you,  since  early  days  when  you  use  to  put  lead 
into  poor  devils  whose  stuff  you  wanted.  And  you  didn't 
look  like  a  banker  to  me,  either,  trying  to  bulldoze  Janet 
when  I  came  in ;  you  looked  like  the  big  dirty  coward  you 
are.  Aha,  here's  the  doctor!  Now  just  tell  him  how  it 
comes  you  can  order  me  out  of  his  house,  and  why  you 
were  threatening  Janet  and  making  her  scream." 

The  physician  turned  a  white,  angry  countenance  to 
Sorenson. 

"I  heard  the  scream.  Is  it  true  you  were  abusing  my 
daughter?"  he  demanded,  stepping  in  front  of  the  man. 

"I  came  here  because  I  learned  my  son  Ed  had  been 
broken  to  bits  through  her  trickery  and  damnable " 

The  words  were  cut  off  by  the  doctor's  hand  which 
smote  the  blasphemous  lips  uttering  them. 

Even  more  than  Johnson's  blow  did  this  slap  upon 
the  mouth  enrage  the  cattleman.  His  face  became  con- 
gested, his  shoulders  heaved,  but  behind  the  doctor  was 
the  revolver  still  directed  at  his  head. 

"You've  come  here  uninvited  and  you've  said  too 
much,"  Doctor  Hosmer  stated  in  cold  even  tones.  "You 
may  be  the  town  magnate,  but  you're  only  a  ruffian  and  a 
crook  after  all.  You  can't  bluff  or  bully  us.  More  than 


WITH  FANGS  BARED  233 

that,  you've  insulted  my  daughter  and  me  beyond  any 
future  reparation.  As  for  your  son,  he  got  less  than  he 
deserved."  He  turned  to  the  rancher.  "You  came  just 
in  time,  it  seems.  Please  see  that  he  leaves  the  house." 

Johnson  waved  with  his  gun  significantly  towards  the 
door. 

"Move  right  along  lively,"  he  added.  "And  I'll  go 
along  with  you  to  see  that  you  don't  hamstring  my 
horses,  which  I  don't  put  past  an  underhanded  cattle- 
thief  like  you." 

Sorenson  seemed  striving  for  words  that  would  ade- 
quately blast  those  before  him,  but  they  appeared  lack- 
ing. With  a  last  malignant  glare  he  walked  out  upon 
the  veranda  and  down  across  the  yard,  with  his  guard 
following  him. 

When  Johnson  returned  after  Sorenson's  departure 
in  his  car,  he  was  grinning  sardonically. 

"I  shouldn't  want  him  running  among  my  cattle ;  he'd 
bite  'em  and  give  'em  the  rabies,"  he  remarked. 

Janet  caught  and  pressed  his  toil-roughened  hand. 

"You'll  never  know  how  much  I  thank  you  for  coming 
in  just  when  you  did,"  she  cried. 

"Pshaw,  your  father  would  have  showed  up  and 
stopped  him." 

"I'm  not  so  sure.  Father  has  no  weapon,  and  that 
man  did  have  one.  It  was  the  sight  of  your  pistol  that 
made  him  cower.  You  couldn't  have  chosen  a  more 
lucky  minute  to  arrive." 

"Well,  it  was  a  little  bit  timely,  as  it  turned  out. 
Considering  too  that  we  were  coming  to  see  you  anyway, 
it  was  just  as  well  to  walk  in  when  we  could  do  some  good. 
Mary  has  something  for  you  to  read,  if  you  read  Span- 
ish." 

"Yes,  I  do." 


234     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

"That's  good.  Show  'em  what  you  have,  daugh- 
ter." 

Mary  drew  a  knotted  handkerchief  from  her  bosom  and 
undid  the  knots.  Appeared  the  doubled  paper  she  had 
found.  This  she  passed  to  Janet. 

"Why, — why,  this  is  the  document  I  had !"  the  latter 
exclaimed,  joyfully.  "Where  did  you  find  it?" 

"Up  by  the  smashed  automobile,  when  father  and  I 
were  at  the  cabin."  She  exchanged  a  guarded  look  with 
her  father.  "There  are  names  in  it  that  made  me  think 
it  might  be  valuable.  So  when  father  came  back  from 
Bowenville  I  showed  it  to  him.  But  neither  of  us  could 
read  it.  We  thought  we'd  better  bring  it  to  you  to 
read." 

"It  is  valuable,  very  valuable.  I  had  it  when  I  was 
seized  by  Ed  Sorenson  and  he  took  it  away  from  me. 
Evidently,  then,  it  fell  from  his  pocket  at  the  time  of 
the  accident.  Yes,  indeed,  it's  important.  It  means 
everything  to  certain  parties.  I'll  read  it,  but  you  un- 
derstand what  it  tells  is  private  at  present." 

"We  understand — and  I  think  I  know  what  it's  going 
to  say,"  Johnson  remarked,  grimly. 

Thereupon  while  the  others  listened  Janet  read  a 
translation  of  the  long  document.  To  her  and  her  father 
the  facts  were  not  new,  for  Weir  had  already  related  such 
as  he  knew  of  the  happenings  in  Verse's  saloon  on  that 
eventful  day  thirty  years  previous.  Nor  for  that  matter 
were  they  strange  to  Johnson  and  his  daughter,  though 
of  course  neither  Janet  nor  her  father  were  aware  of 
the  rancher's  more  intimate  knowledge  of  the  subject. 

"A  pretty  good  story  as  far  as  it  goes,  but  like  all 
lawyers'  papers  long-winded,"  Johnson  stated,  crit- 
ically. 

"What  do  you  mean,  far  as  it  goes?"  Janet  asked. 


WITH  FANGS  BARED  235 

curiously.  "Did  you  know  this  old  Mexican?  Did  you 
ever  hear  him  tell  about  the  thing?" 

"I  knew  he  was  there  at  the  time,  but  he  never  told  me 
anything." 

Here  Dr.  Hosmer  spoke. 

"Saurez  died  yesterday.  It  must  have  been  shortly 
after  he  made  this  deposition.  He  died  in  Vorse's  sa- 
loon, which  gives  a  color  of  suspicion  to  his  death.  In 
addition,  Martinez,  as  you  know,  was  dragged  away 
somewhere." 

"Then  Vorse  learned  old  Saurez  had  blabbed,  and 
killed  him,"  Johnson  said,  in  a  convinced  tone.  "Vorse 
is  a  bad  bird,  I  want  to  say.  But  so  are  all  of  them, 
Sorenson,  Burkhardt  and  Judge  Gordon  as  well." 

Janet  brought  the  talk  back  to  the  subject. 

"You  make  me  still  wonder,  Mr.  Johnson,"  she  said. 
"You  seemed  to  think  there's  more  to  the  account  than  is 
told  in  this  paper." 

Again  the  rancher  and  his  daughter  glanced  at  each 
other,  hesitatingly. 

"Tell  them,  father,"  Mary  broke  forth  all  at  once. 
"They  know  this  much,  and  you  know  you  can  trust 
them." 

The  man,  however,  shook  his  head  with  a  certain 
dogged  purpose. 

"If  this  is  just  a  paper  in  some  trifling  lawsuit  or 
other,  it  will  be  better  if  I  keep  my  own  counsel,"  he 
stated.  "I've  riled  Sorenson  considerable  as  it  is  now, 
and  I  don't  care  particularly  about  having  him  gunning 
on  my  trail  active-like.  If  it  really  mattered " 

"It  does  matter;  it  matters  everything,"  Janet  cried, 
"if  you  really  know  something  more!" 

"Why?" 

"Because  it  concerns  Mr.  Weir.     The  Joseph  Weir 


236     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

described  and  named  in  this  affidavit  was  his  father. 
He  believes  these  men  robbed  his  father;  this  paper 
proves  it,  but  not  absolutely,  for  Mexican  evidence  here 
in  this  country  doesn't  carry  as  much  weight  against 
white  men — especially  men  as  rich  and  strong  as  these 
named — as  it  would  in  other  places  perhaps.  You  know 
that.  This  paper  was  obtained  for  Mr.  Weir." 

"Oho,  so  that's  the  way  of  it!"  Johnson  said,  with  a 
long  drawn-out  tone. 

He  regarded  the  paper  in  silence  for  a  time,  busy  with 
his  thoughts,  absently  twisting  his  beard,  until  at  length 
a  look  of  satisfaction  grew  on  his  face. 

"Well,  well,  this  is  fine,"  he  went  on  presently.  "I 
never  thought  I  should  be  able  to  pay  the  obligation  I 
owe  him,  and  I  won't  fully  at  that,  but  this  will  help. 
No,  that  paper  doesn't  tell  all,  for  I  reckon  Saurez  didn't 
see  all."  He  glanced  triumphantly  at  the  doctor  and  the 
girl.  "But  I  did." 

"You !"  both  exclaimed. 

But  before  he  could  explain,  the  memory  of  the  cat- 
tleman's threat  recurred  to  Janet  to  banish  thoughts 
of  aught  else  than  Weir's  danger  from  her  mind. 

"Mr.  Sorenson  said  he  was  going  up  to  the  dam  to 
shoot  Mr.  Weir,"  she  exclaimed.  "We  must  give  warn- 
ing." 

"Did  he  say  he  was  going  himself?"  Johnson  asked. 

"To  get  the  paper,  yes."  Then  Janet  continued  anx- 
iously. "But  the  paper  isn't  all.  His  son  told  him 
what  occurred  in  the  mountains  and  I  believe  the  man 
wants  to  harm  Mr.  Weir  as  well  as  to  obtain  the  paper. 
Perhaps  he  plans  on  gaining  the  document  first,  then 
killing  him.  In  any  case,  we  must  put  Mr.  Weir  on 
guard." 

"I'll  just  drive  up  there  and  tell  the  engineer,"1  John- 


WITH  FANGS  BARED  237 

son  stated.  "Shouldn't  be  surprised  if  I  got  a  chance 
yet  to  use  my  gun.  You  girls  can  stay  here." 

Janet  gazed  at  him  with  a  flushing  face. 

"The  man  could  go  to  the  dam  and  kill  Mr.  Weir  and 
get  safely  home  while  you're  starting  with  your  team," 
said  she.  "No,  we  must  drive  there  in  a  car.  Father, 
you  take  Mr.  Johnson  in  yours,  and  I'll  carry  Mary  in 
mine.  We'll  go  along  of  course,  for  we'll  not  remain 
here  in  the  cottage  alone  with  such  terrible  things  hap- 
pening in  San  Mateo." 

And  to  this  there  was  no  dissent. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  ALAUM 

AT  the  dam  Weir  found  Meyers  and  Atkinson  anxious- 
ly waiting  his  return.  The  sudden  concerted  melting 
away  of  workmen  from  camp  had  been  warning  to  his 
subordinates  that  the  danger  of  a  general  spree  had 
taken  definite  form,  which  the  report  of  a  pair  of  young 
engineers  confirmed  when  they  followed  a  group  of  la- 
borers to  the  old  adobe  house  and  beheld  the  beginning 
of  the  debauch. 

"Get  out  all  the  staff,  Meyers,  and  you,  Atkinson,  all 
the  foremen  and  sober  men  left,  then  go  down  the  road 
and  put  that  joint  out  of  business,  taking  axes  and  what- 
ever is  necessary.'* 

"And  if  they  fight?"  Meyers  asked. 

"Try  first  to  placate  them.  If  that  fails,  some  of  you 
draw  them  off  in  order  to  permit  the  others  to  enter  the 
house  and  destroy  the  whiskey.  It's  a  tough  job,  but 
you  may  succeed.  If  the  crowd  turns  ugly  as  it  may, 
being  drunk,  come  back.  No  need  to  take  the  risk  of 
broken  heads  or  being  beaten  up.  See,  however,  if  you 
can't  outwit  the  outfit.  Possibly  you  could  push  that 
mud  house  over  from  the  rear  by  means  of  a  beam ;  that 
would  do  the  business.  I  leave  it  to  you  to  decide  what's 
best  to  do,  men,  after  you've  examined  the  situation." 

"The  camp  will  be  unguarded  except  for  you  and  the 
two  men  with  you,"  Weir's  assistant  suggested.  "If 
the  crowd  drinking  down  at  that  place  should  take  the 

238 


THE  ALARM  239 

notion  to  come  here  and  tear  things  up,  there  would  be 
nothing  to  hinder  them.  A  few  should  stay,  anyway, 
I  imagine — half  a  dozen,  who  can  use  guns." 

"Well,  pick  out  six  to  remain,"  the  other  agreed. 

For  Meyers'  suggestion  had  raised  a  disagreeable  pos- 
sibility. It  was  never  safe  to  ignore  precautions  when  a 
gang  of  two  or  three  hundred  rough,  active  laborers, 
however  loyal  when  sober,  were  made  irresponsible  and 
crazy  by  liquor;  and  one  stage  of  drunkenness  in  such 
men  was  usually  manifested  in  a  wild  desire  for  violence. 
The  scheme  of  Weir's  enemies  might  comprise  using  this 
very  act  for  wrecking  the  camp. 

Six  men,  to  be  sure,  would  offer  little  resistance  to 
stemming  the  movement  once  it  was  started,  but  the  sight 
of  steel  in  the  guards'  hands  might  cause  even  a  reckless 
mob  to  pause  long  enough  for  an  appeal.  If  the  men 
should  be  brought  to  listen,  they  could  probably  be  di- 
verted from  their  purpose,  as  impassioned  crowds  are 
easily  swayed  by  men  of  force. 

In  any  case  the  camp  and  dam  should  be  defended  to 
the  last.  That  went  without  saying. 

Meyers  and  Atkinson  had  little  more  than  departed 
with  their  muster  of  engineers,  foremen  and  sober  work- 
men, some  fifty  in  all,  when  the  two  cars  driven  by  Dr. 
Hosmer  and  Janet  arrived  at  headquarters.  To  the  oc- 
cupants of  both  machines  the  camp  appeared  singularly 
dark  and  silent,  the  office  building  and  the  commissary 
shack  alone  showing  lights. 

The  four  visitors  entered  the  main  room  in  the  former 
building,  where  they  found  Mr.  Pollock  and  Martinez. 

"Mr.  Weir  stepped  out  for  a  moment  to  make  a  round 
of  the  camp  and  the  horse  corrals,"  the  easterner  replied 
in  answer  to  an  inquiry  from  the  doctor.  "Will  you  be 
seated?"  And  he  politely  placed  chairs  for  Janet  and 


240    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

Mary,  while  his  look  scrutinized  the  party  with  discreet 
interest. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Martinez,  you've  escaped !"  Janet  exclaimed, 
after  a  surprised  stare  at  the  lawyer. 

The  Mexican  smiled,  bowed  and  drew  one  point  of  his 
black  mustache  through  his  fingers. 

"I  have  indeed,  Miss  Janet,"  said  he.  "Not  without 
an  unpleasant  experience,  however.  I  understand  you 
secured  the  paper  concerning  which  I  telephoned  you, 
and  though  I  understand  it  has  since  been  lost — through 
no  fault  of  yours — I  desire  to  express  my  thanks  for 
your  excellent  assistance  in  the  matter." 

"But  it  has  been  found  again ;  we  have  it  with  us." 

Martinez  gave  a  start,  none  the  less  sincere  for  being 
dramatic. 

"What !  Saurez'  deposition?  Weir  thought  it 
burned.  Why,  this  is  the  most  wonderful  luck  in  the 
world !  It  gives  us  the  whip-hand  again." 

Janet  nodded. 

"Mary  Johnson  here  found  it  in  a  crack  in  the  rocks 
when  she  and  her  father  went  up  to  the  cabin  to  bring 
Ed  Sorenson  down.  Father  has  it.  That's  one  reason 
we're  here.  But  there's  another;  Mr.  Sorenson  has 
learned  of  his  son's  accident,  has  seen  him,  talked  with 
him,  been  told  lies  and  now  is  in  a  dreadful  rage,  threat- 
ening every  one  concerned.  He  was  at  our  house  and 
made  a  scene.  He's  coming  here,  or  so  he  said,  to  kill 
Mr.  Weir  and  obtain  the  document.  So  we  hurried  to 
the  dam  to  give  warning." 

At  this  juncture  Mr.  Pollock  stepped  forward. 

"Mr.  Sorenson  hasn't  yet  appeared,  and  I  assure  you 
he  will  be  prevented  from  harming  any  one  if  he  comes. 
You  are  Miss  Janet  Hosmer,  I  judge,  of  whom  I've 
heard  so  much  that  is  praiseworthy.  Will  you  allow 


THE  ALARM  241 

me  to  introduce  myself?  I'm  Mr.  Pollock,  a  company 
director,  and  to  a  degree  in  Mr.  Weir's  confidence." 

Janet  expressed  her  pleasure  at  his  acquaintance  and 
in  turn  introduced  her  father  and  the  Johnsons. 

"Mr.  Weir  spoke  of  you  to  us,  but  we  weren't  aware 
he  had  informed  you  of  the  paper.'*  Then  she  added, 
"But  he  would  wish  to,  naturally." 

Weir's  voice,  without,  in  conversation  with  some  one 
caused  them  all  to  look  towards  the  door.  In  the  panel 
of  light  falling  on  the  darkness  before  the  house  they 
perceived  the  engineer's  tall  figure  by  a  horse,  from 
which  the  rider  was  dismounting.  Letting  the  reins  drag 
and  leaving  the  horse  to  stand,  the  latter  walked  with 
Weir  into  the  room. 

"Why,  this  is  a  delightful  surprise !"  the  engineer  ex- 
claimed on  beholding  the  four  who  had  come  while  he  was 
out.  "And  unexpected."  His  eyes  rapidly  interrogated 
the  different  faces.  "I  suppose  it's  business,  not  pleas- 
ure, that  brings  you." 

"That's  so,"  said  Johnson,  the  rancher,  nodding. 

"Well,  Madden  is  here  on  business,  too,  it  seems." 
He  glanced  at  Mr.  Pollock.  "Mr.  Madden  is  our  sheriff 
and  he  has  a  warrant  for  my  arrest."  He  turned  back 
to  the  officer.  "You  come  at  a  bad  time  for  my  affairs. 
You  saw  that  big  show  at  the  old  house  half  way  down 
the  road?  That  crowd  is  made  up  of  my  workmen,  who 
are  being  entertained  with  free  whiskey,  and  there's  no 
telling  but  what  they  may  come  here  to  tear  things  up. 
The  whiskey  is  furnished  by  Vorse,  I  suspect,  and  is  be- 
ing served  at  Vorse's  place.  Your  warrant  is  inspired 
by  Vorse  and  others,  isn't  it?  The  two  circumstances 
coming  at  the  same  moment,  the  free  drunk  and  my  ar- 
rest, look  fishy  to  me.  What  do  you  think?  I'm  in 
charge  of  a  property  here  representing  a  good  deal  of 


242     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

money  and  I  should  hate  to  be  absent  if  the  men  took 
the  idea  into  their  heads  to  turn  the  camp  upside  down, 
especially  if  the  idea  was  inspired  by  Vorse  and  his 
friends." 

"I  haven't  served  the  warrant  yet,"  Madden  re- 
plied. 

"And  you  know  that  I'm  not  going  to  skip  the  coun- 
try at  the  prospect  of  your  serving  it?" 

"No.  There's  no  hurry;  I'll  just  sit  around  for 
a  while.  And  understand,  Weir,  this  arrest  is  none  of 
my  doings,  except  officially.  I  take  no  stock  in  the 
yarn  about  your  having  attacked  the  greaser  you  killed. 
Martinez'  and  Miss  Janet's  testimony  at  the  inquest 
satisfied  me  in  that  respect." 

Mr.  Pollock  now  drew  Weir  aside  for  a  whispered  con- 
ference. When  they  rejoined  the  others  the  engineer 
made  the  lawyer  acquainted  with  the  sheriff. 

"Mr.  Weir  has  agreed  to  my  suggestion  to  take  you 
into  our  confidence,  Mr.  Madden,"  he  stated.  "There 
may  be  other  warrants  for  you  to  serve  soon,  and  I'm 
sure  you  will  respect  what  we  reveal.  All  of  us  here  ex- 
cept you  know  the  facts  I'm  about  to  relate;  indeed, 
have  shared  in  them  to  an  extent ;  and  in  addition  to  our 
word  we'll  present  proof.  You  know  Dr.  Hosmer  and 
his  daughter  certainly,  you  probably  know  Mr.  Johnson 
and  the  young  lady  with  him,  and  are  aware  whether 
their  statements  are  to  be  relied  on." 

"They  are,"  Madden  answered,  without  hesitation. 

"You're  already  convinced  of  the  truth  of  Weir's  inno- 
cence in  the  charge  of  murder  now  being  preferred 
against  him.  Well,  now,  a  friend  at  court  is  worth  some- 
thing; and  we  propose  to  make  you  that  friend." 

"I'm  not  against  him  like  most  of  the  town,  anyway," 
was  the  sheriff's  answer. 


THE  ALARM  243 

"Go  ahead  with  your  explanation,"  Pollock  said  to  the 
engineer. 

Thereupon  Weir  briefly  sketched  out  events  for  the  of- 
ficer as  they  had  occurred  and  as  showing  the  motives 
which  had  inspired  his  enemies  in  seeking  to  destroy  him: 
— the  original  plot  against  his  father,  his  determination 
to  uncover  the  four  conspirators,  the  episode  at  the  res- 
taurant in  Bowenville,  the  discovery  of  Ed  Sorenson  as 
the  hirer  of  the  dead  Mexican  assassin,  the  obtaining  of 
Saurez'  deposition  and  Martinez'  imprisonment  in 
Vorse's  saloon  cellar,  Janet's  abduction  and  rescue  and 
the  loss  of  the  paper." 

"But  the  paper  isn't  lost,"  Dr.  Hosmer  interrupted. 
"Mary  Johnson  found  it  and  here  it  is."  With  which 
he  drew  the  crumpled  document  from  his  breast  pocket 
and  laid  it  on  the  table. 

"You  have  it  again !"  Weir  exclaimed.  "You  found  it^ 
Mary !"  He  stepped  forward  and  took  the  girPs  hand  in 
his  for  a  moment.  "You're  a  friend  indeed  to  bring 
this  back  to  me." 

"I  owed  you  more  than  that,"  she  said,  coloring. 

"But  Mr.  Sorenson  has  learned  about  his  son  and  the 
paper  and  everything  that  happened,  except  Ed  Soren- 
son told  him  lies  instead  of  the  truth,"  Janet  put  in. 
"He's  terribly  angry  at  all  of  us.  He  said  he  would 
kill  you  for  crippling  Ed." 

"Sorenson  is  welcome  to  try,"  Weir  responded,  with  a 
quick  blaze  in  his  eyes. 

At  this  point  Mr.  Pollock  interposed. 

"You  didn't  finish  your  story,  Weir.  Relate  for  Mr. 
Madden's  benefit  what  occurred  at  Judge  Gordon's 
house." 

This  tragic  conclusion  to  the  afternoon's  happenings 
the  engineer  told,  though  remarking  that  the  company 


24,4     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

director  should  be  the  true  narrator.  At  his  announce- 
ment that  Judge  Gordon  had  taken  his  own  life  by  poison 
his  listeners  remained  dumbfounded. 

"He's  dead,  then?"  Madden  asked,  at  last. 

"Yes.  And  the  transfer  of  property  made  to  Mr. 
Pollock  amounts  to  an  acknowledgment  of  his  guilt. 
Now,  I  should  like  to  have  Martinez  read  this  deposition, 
for  I've  never  heard  its  contents  myself." 

This  the  Mexican  did,  translating  the  Spanish  para- 
graphs into  English  with  fluent  ease,  ending  by  reading 
the  list  of  witnesses.  Martinez  gave  the  paper  a  slap  of 
his  hand. 

"And  old  Saurez  was  found  dead  in  Vorse's  saloon  by 
me  an  hour  after  he  had  signed  this,"  he  said.  "Draw 
your  own  conclusions." 

Madden  shifted  on  his  seat.  He  glanced  at  the  docu- 
ment and  at  the  others  and  then  gazed  out  the  door  at 
the  darkness. 

"Looks  like  a  clear  case;  I  always  imagined  if  these 
men's  past  was  dug  into  there  would  be  a  lot  of  crooked 
business  turned  up.  But  granting  that  everything  is  as 
shown,  with  Lucerio  the  county  attorney  under  Soren- 
son's  thumb  and  the  community  as  it  is  there's  a  ques- 
tion if  Saurez'  statement  even  will  be  enough  to  convict 
them." 

At  that  Janet  jumped  up,  her  eyes  gleaming. 

"That  is  not  all  the  proof,  not  all  by  any  means!" 
she  cried. 

"What  more  is  there?" 

"Mr.  Johnson's  evidence." 

"Johnson's!"  came  in  surprised  tones  from  all  four 
of  the  men  uninformed  of  the  rancher's  story. 

"Yes,  he  saw  the  man  Dent  killed  and  the  plotters  make 
your  father,  Mr.  Weir,  believe  he  had  done  the  killing." 


THE  ALARM  245 

Steele  stared  at  Johnson  dumbfounded. 

"Just  that ;  I  saw  the  whole  dirty  trick  worked,  look- 
ing through  the  back  door  of  the  saloon." 

"Then  you  were  the  boy!"  Weir  gasped.  "The  boy 
who  looked  in !  After  thirty  years  I  supposed  that  boy 
gone,  lost,  vanished  beyond  finding." 

"I  stayed  right  here,"  was  the  reply.  "Of  course  I 
kept  my  mouth  shut  about  what  I  had  seen.  I  worked 
on  ranches  and  rode  range  and  at  last  got  the  little 
place  on  Terry  Creek  and  married.  Nothing  strange  in 
my  remaining  in  the  country  where  I  grew  up,  especially 
as  I  only  knew  the  cattle  business." 

Weir  swung  about  to  Madden. 

"Here's  a  live  witness,"  said  he.  "With  the  other 
proof  his  evidence  should  be  final." 

"Whenever  you  say,  I'll  arrest  the  men.  As  for  this 
warrant  I  have,  I'll  just  continue  to  carry  it  in  my 
pocket,"  the  sheriff  stated.  "I  must  remark  that  I 
never  heard  of  a  more  villainous  plot,  taking  it  all 
around,  than  you've  brought  to  light." 

"And  the  charges  must  cover  everything,"  Pollock  said 
sternly.  "From  Dent's  murder  to  the  conspiracy 
against  the  irrigation  company." 

"I'll  stay  here  in  case  you  need  me  to  stop  any  trouble 
with  your  workmen,"  Madden  remarked. 

But  trouble  though  imminent  was  coming  from  an- 
other direction,  as  was  suddenly  shown  when  a  man, 
dust-covered  and  hatless,  rushed  into  the  office. 

"They're  on  the  way,"  he  cried. 

"Who  ?     The  workmen  ?"  Weir  demanded. 

"No.  I  don't  know  anything  about  the  workmen,  but 
a  bunch  of  Mexicans,  fifty  or  more,  are  headed  this  way 
to  blow  up  the  dam.  I  saw  and  heard  them." 

"Where?" 


246     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

"At  the  spring  a  mile  south.  I  was  watching  down 
there,  where  Atkinson  had  sent  me  after  supper,  reliev- 
ing the  man  who  kept  lookout  during  the  afternoon. 
That  was  where  the  booze  was  dealt  out  last  night,  you 
remember.  I  was  sitting  there  when  I  heard  a  crowd 
coming.  At  first  I  thought  it  was  our  men,  but  when 
they  stopped  to  drink  and  smoke,  I  saw  by  their  talk 
they  were  Mexicans.  But  there  was  one  white  man  with 
them,  a  leader.  He  and  a  Mexican  talked  in  English. 
They're  to  raid  the  camp,  crawling  up  the  canyon,  to 
dynamite  the  dam  first,  then  fire  the  buildings." 

"Then  they're  on  the  road  here  now?" 

"Yes."  The  speaker  licked  his  lips.  "I  cut  along 
the  hillside  until  I  got  ahead  of  them,  but  it  was  slow 
going  in  the  dark  and  stumbling  through  the  sage.  They 
must  be  close  at  hand  by  this  time,  though  I  came  faster 
than  they  did.  The  white  man  said  to  the  Mexican  that 
they  wanted  to  reach  the  dam  just  at  moonrise,  and  that 
will  be  pretty  quick  now." 

"Go  to  the  bunk-house  and  call  the  men  waiting  there, 
and  get  a  gun  yourself,"  Weir  ordered.  "The  store- 
keeper will  give  you  one."  When  the  messenger  had 
darted  out,  he  looked  at  the  others.  <fYou  must  take 
these  girls  away  from  here,  doctor,  at  once." 

"But  I  don't  go,"  Johnson  snapped  forth,  drawing  his 
revolver  and  giving  the  cylinder  a  spin. 

"I  never  could  hit  anything,  and  haven't  had  a  firearm 
in  my  hand  for  years,  but  I  can  try,"  Pollock  stated. 
"This  promises  to  be  interesting,  very  interesting." 

"Very,"  said  Weir. 

For  a  little  he  stood  in  thought,  while  the  others  gazed 
at  him  without  speaking.  His  straight  body  seemed  to 
gather  strength  and  power  before  their  eyes,  his  clean- 
cut  features  to  become  hard  and  masterful. 


THE  ALARM  247 

"Up  the  canyon  he  said  they  were  coming,  didn't 
he?"  he  remarked  at  last,  more  to  himself  than  to  them. 
"Very  well,  so  much  the  better.  Johnson,  you  and  Mad- 
den take  charge  of  the  men  when  they  come  and  line 
them  along  the  hillside  this  side  of  the  dam.  Put  out 
all  lights."  With  which  he  strode  out  of  the  building. 

They  looked  after  him  in  uncertainty. 

"I'm  not  going;  you  may  be  hurt,  and  need  me,'* 
Mary  stated,  with  a  stubborn  note  in  her  voice. 

"Then  keep  out  of  reach — and  run  for  town  if  the 
ruffians  get  into  camp,"  was  her  father's  answer. 

"I  stay  too,"  Janet  exclaimed,  resolutely. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

NO  QUARTER 

THE  peril  threatening  the  unfinished  dam  now  alone 
engaged  Steele  Weir's  mind.  Personal  considerations 
did  not  enter  into  his  calculations,  least  of  all  thought 
of  personal  danger;  for  when  he  placed  himself  in  an 
undertaking  whatever  rested  under  his  hand,  as  in  this 
case  the  irrigation  company's  property,  became  for  him 
a  trust  to  attend,  to  direct,  to  guard.  Even  more  than 
if  it  had  been  his  own  property  did  he  feel  the  obligation, 
for  the  interests  concerned  were  not  his.  But  the  mat- 
ter went  deeper  than  a  prospective  money  loss ;  it  struck 
down  to  principles  and  rights — the  principles  of  order 
and  industry  as  against  viciousness  and  havoc ;  the  rights 
of  law-abiding  men  who  create  as  against  the  wantonness 
of  lawless  men  who  would  destroy. 

Were  it  his  own  workmen  who,  inflamed  by  drink  and 
incited  by  a  spirit  of  recklessness,  were  coming  to  wreck 
the  camp  in  a  moment  of  mad  intoxication,  he  would  have 
made  allowances  for  the  cause.  Before  resorting  to  ex- 
treme measures  in  defending  his  charge,  he  first  would 
have  sought  to  bring  them  to  their  senses.  Drunken 
men  are  men  unbalanced,  irrational. 

But  here  was  another  case:  an  attack  by  a  secret, 
sober,  malevolent  band,  who  in  cold  blood  approached  to 
demolish  the  company  works.  Not  liquor  moved  them  on 
their  mission,  but  money — money  paid  by  his  arch  ene- 
mies. The  men  were  simply  hired  tools,  brazenly  indif- 

248 


ferent  no  doubt  to  crimes,  desperate  in  character  cer- 
tainly, for  a  handful  of  coins  ready  to  wipe  out  a  mil- 
lion dollars'  worth  of  property  and  effort.  Such  de- 
served no  consideration  or  quarter. 

Weir  proposed  to  give  none.  With  enemies  of  this 
kind  he  had  but  one  policy,  strike  first  and  strike  with 
deadly  force.  One  does  not  seek  to  dissuade  a  rattle- 
snake ;  one  promptly  stamps  it  under  heel.  One  cannot 
compromise  with  ravenous  wolves ;  one  shoots  them  down. 
One  does  not  wait  to  see  how  far  a  treacherous  foe  will 
go;  one  forestalls  and  crushes  him  before  he  begins. 
Moreover,  if  wise,  one  does  it  in  such  fashion  that  the 
enemy  will  not  arise  from  the  blow. 

With  the  information  given  him  by  the  guard  posted 
at  the  spring  Weir  immediately  grasped  the  true  nature 
of  the  plot.  The  "whiskey  party"  was  but  a  means  of 
withdrawing  the  workmen  from  the  scene,  of  weakening 
the  camp,  while  a  picked  company  of  ruffians  wrecked 
the  property.  It  was  an  assault  intended  to  wipe  out 
the  works  and  end  construction,  coincident  with  his  ar- 
rest. Both  the  company  and  he  were  to  pay  the  penalty 
for  resisting  the  powers  that  rule  San  Mateo.  And  if 
the  tale  were  spread  that  the  destruction  had  been 
wrought  by  his  workmen  while  drunk,  who  would  doubt 
it? 

Like  shadows  the  band  of  Mexican  desperadoes  would 
come,  dynamite  the  dam,  fire  the  buildings,  stampede  the 
horses,  and  like  shadows  vanish  again.  In  the  unexpect- 
edness of  the  raid,  in  the  confusion,  in  the  dim  light,  no 
one  would  with  certainty  be  able  to  say  who  the  assail- 
ants were.  A  scheme  ferocious  in  its  conception  and 
diabolical  in  its  cunning!  But  there  was  one  flaw — 
the  element  of  chance.  Chance  had  given  Weir  warn- 
ing. 


250     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

A  strong  man  warned  is  a  strong  man  armed. 

As  the  engineer  stood  in  the  office,  swiftly  measuring 
the  imminent  menace  of  which  he  had  just  been  told, 
calculating  the  meager  instruments  of  defense  at  hand, 
his  mind  sweeping  up  all  the  salient  aspects,  features, 
advantages  and  disadvantages  of  the  situation,  he  seized 
on  the  one  weak  spot  in  the  attacking  party's  plan.  At 
that  spot  he  would  strike. 

So  giving  Johnson  and  Madden  the  order  to  take 
charge  of  the  little  handful  of  guards,  he  had  plunged 
out  into  the  night. 

The  men  from  the  bunk-house  were  already  running  to- 
ward the  office,  before  the  door  of  which  the  rancher 
gathered  them  together  to  make  sure  of  their  arms  and 
ammunition.  All  told,  when  Martinez  and  Pollock  pres- 
ently came  from  the  store  with  guns,  the  little  party  num- 
bered eleven. 

"Is  this  all  there  are  of  us?"  Dr.  Hosmer  asked. 

"We  are  worth  all  that  crowd  that's  coming,"  John- 
son exclaimed,  taking  a  spare  gun  Martinez  had  brought 
him. 

"Did  Weir  send  the  rest  of  the  engineers  down  to  that 
house?  I  understood  so." 

"That's  where  they  are,  I  reckon." 

Dr.  Hosmer  considered  for  a  minute. 

"I  can  be  there  in  five  minutes  in  my  car.  The  road 
is  on  the  north  side  of  the  stream,  as  is  this  camp: 
the  gang  that's  heading  here  to  blow  things  up  is  com- 
ing up  from  the  south,  so  it  will  not  block  the  way. 
Men  could  be  here  in  twenty  minutes  from  down  yonder 
by  running." 

"A  good  suggestion,  doctor,"  Pollock  said.  "It  may 
take  you  a  bit  longer  to  find  and  tell  them  what's  occur- 
ring, but  even  so  they  may  return  in  time.  Fifty,  or 


NO  QUARTER  251 

even  twenty,  might  give  us  enough  assistance  to  beat  off 
the  attack." 

"There  comes  the  moon,"  said  the  man  who  had  been  at 
the  spring.  "They  must  be  near  now." 

Far  in  the  east  the  moon  was  stealing  above  the  hori- 
zon. Under  its  light  the  mesa  took  form  out  of  the 
darkness — the  level  sagebrush  plain  criss-crossed  by  wil- 
low-lined ditches  and  checkered  by  small  Mexican  fields, 
the  winding  shimmering  Burntwood  River  with  its  bor- 
der of  cottonwoods,  the  narrow  road,  the  distant  town  of 
San  Mateo,  a  vague  blot  of  shadow  picked  out  by  tiny 
specks  of  light. 

The  mountains  too  now  reared  in  view,  silent,  silvered, 
majestic,  towering  about  the  camp  on  the  lower  base. 
One  could  see,  as  the  moon  swam  higher,  the  low  long 
buildings  of  the  camp  clustered  on  the  hillside  above  the 
canyon,  in  the  bottom  of  which  was  the  dashing  stream 
and  the  bone-white  core  of  the  dam. 

"Look  down  yonder  on  the  other  side!"  Martinez  ex- 
claimed suddenly,  pointing  a  long  thin  forefinger  at  the 
mouth  of  the  canyon  where  a  group  of  black  dots  were 
moving  up  the  river. 

"That's  them,"  said  the  man  who  had  given  the  warn- 
ing. 

"And  they're  armed,"  said  another.  "You  can  see  the 
moon  shine  on  their  gun-barrels." 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  stream,  some  two  hundred 
yards  below  the  dam  and  three  or  four  hundred  feet 
lower  in  elevation  than  the  camp,  advancing  up  the 
canyon  in  a  string,  the  men  looked  like  a  line  of  in- 
sects. 

"I'm  off  for  help,"  the  doctor  said,  springing  into  his 
car.  "Janet,  you  and  Mary  go  higher  up  among  the 
rocks  and  hide  if  these  buildings  are  attacked."  Away 


252     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

he  went,  buzzing  down  the  hillside  to  the  long  stretch  of 
road. 

Weir  now  came  into  sight,  walking  quickly  towards  the 
group.  That  he  saw  the  Mexicans  down  in  the  canyon 
was  evident  from  his  swift  appraising  glances  thither. 

"Johnson,  move  your  men  down  halfway  to  the  dam 
and  have  them  scatter  there  behind  bowlders.  I  shall  go 
still  lower  down,"  he  said.  "You  will  hold  your  fire  until 
I  signal  with  my  hat  from  the  dam." 

"You're  going  to  the  dam?" 

"Yes." 

"We  ought  to  go  with  you." 

"I  don't  need  you.  You'll  be  more  effective  hidden 
above.  You'll  have  plenty  of  light  as  the  moon  is  shin- 
ing squarely  in  the  gorge.  And  await  my  signal." 

"All  right ;  you're  the  general." 

"But  take  no  extreme  risks,  Weir.  The  company 
doesn't  ask  you  to  sacrifice  yourself,"  Pollock  stated. 

"The  sacrifice  will  be  down  among  those  fellows," 
Steele  replied,  with  set  jaw.  "Don't  worry  about  me. 
Now,  start,  men." 

He  stood  for  a  little  watching  the  rate  of  progress  of 
the  line  of  Mexicans  ascending  the  stream,  which  was 
not  rapid  owing  to  the  broken  rocks  lining  the  bank. 
Then  he  swung  about  to  the  two  girls. 

"Every  one  here  now  is  under  my  orders,"  he  said. 
"You  two  will  take  your  car  and  go  at  once.  This  is 
no  place  for  you." 

"But "  Janet  began. 

"I'm  taking  no  chances  that  you  shall  fall  into  the 
hands  of  those  scoundrels,"  he  declared,  sternly.  "They 
may  succeed  in  reaching  this  spot.  You  must  not  be 
here;  you  must  go." 

Taking  each  by  an  arm  he  piloted  them  to  the  car. 


NO  QUARTER  253 

"Sorry,  but  it  has  to  be,'*  he  added.  "This  is  work 
for  men,  and  men  alone." 

Janet  and  Mary  climbed  up  into  the  seat. 

"You — you  will  take  care  of  yourself,"  Janet  said, 
tremulously. 

"I  expect  to.  Still,  this  isn't  going  to  be  a  croquet 
party ;  anything  may  happen.  Good-by." 

With  that  he  swung  about  and  breaking  into  a  run 
made  for  a  small  building  half-buried  in  the  hillside  and 
apart  from  the  camp.  There  he  stooped  and  picked  up 
under  each  arm  what  looked  like  a  cylinder  of  some  size 
and  went  down  towards  the  dam.  For  a  time  they  could 
see  him,  but  all  at  once  he  slipped  behind  an  outcrop  of 
rock  and  they  saw  him  no  more. 

Janet  turned  to  eye  her  companion.  Once  more  her 
face  was  pale. 

"Well?"  she  inquired  of  Mary. 

"I  reckon  we'd  better  do  as  he  says.  He'd  be  awful 
mad  if  we  didn't.  Did  you  see  his  eyes  when  he  talked 
to  us?" 

"But  if  he — he  and  others  are  wounded?" 

Uneasily  Mary  gazed  at  the  older  girl  and  then  down 
at  the  canyon.  On  the  hillside  the  men  led  by  her 
father  were  no  longer  in  sight,  somewhere  concealed 
among  the  stones  that  dotted  the  earth.  But  down  by 
the  stream  and  now  scarcely  fifty  yards  from  the  white 
stretch  of  concrete  barring  the  river  bed  through  a  tun- 
nel in  which  the  water  foamed  and  escaped,  the  Mexi- 
cans were  clearly  visible,  their  hats  bobbing  about,  their 
guns  flinging  upward  an  occasional  gleam. 

"It  doesn't  seem  as  if  anything  was  going  to  happen," 
Mary  went  on  in  awed  tones.  "Things  are  so  quiet  and 
peaceful." 

Still  Janet  delayed  starting  the  car,  divided  in  feel- 


254     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

ings  between  a  wish  to  respect  Steele  Weir's  insistent 
command  and  a  growing  fear  for  his  safety.  She  could 
see  nothing  of  him.  Into  the  shadow  of  a  rock  he  had 
disappeared  and  thither  she  gazed  with  straining  eyes, 
hoping  to  see  again  his  straight  strong  figure. 

"Why,  look  down  there  at  the  dam,"  Mary  said,  whose 
eyes  had  been  wandering  from  point  to  point  of  the 
scene.  "Isn't  that  him?" 

Janet's  heart  gave  a  quicker  beat,  then  seemed  to  sink 
in  her  breast  as  staring  downward  she  recognized  the  en- 
gineer. He  had  come  out  all  at  once  from  the  shade 
cast  by  a  wooden  framework.  He  had  with  him  the  bur- 
dens he  had  lifted  from  the  ground  before  the  little  de- 
tached stone  house  at  the  edge  of  the  camp,  and  these, 
the  cylinders,  he  placed  on  the  surface  of  the  concrete 
core  at  the  spot  where  he  stood.  Then  he  knelt  down, 
struck  a  match,  lighted  a  cigar — as  if  any  man  in  his 
senses  would  stop  to  smoke  in  such  a  situation! — and 
busied  himself  at  some  task  over  the  cylinders. 

Only  for  an  instant  had  he  stood  erect  on  the  flat  top 
of  the  dam.  Apparently  he  had  been  unseen  by  the 
attackers,  engaged  in  picking  their  footing:  and  now  in 
his  crouching  position,  retired  from  the  upper  edge  of 
the  dam's  front  as  he  was,  it  was  very  likely  that  he 
was  wholly  out  of  view  of  the  band. 

At  last  Weir  moved  his  cylinders  forward  towards  this 
edge.  Afterwards  he  straightened  up  and  standing 
hands  on  hips,  smoking  his  cigar,  the  tiny  crimson  glow 
of  which  rose  and  fell,  he  watched  the  party  near- 
ing  the  foot  of  the  white  gleaming  wall,  fifty  feet  below 
him. 

For  Janet  the  sight  was  too  much.  His  indifference 
to  risk  froze  her ;  he  appeared  to  be  courting  death ;  and 
she  strove  to  open  her  lips  to  send  down  to  him  an  im- 


NO  QUARTER  255 

ploring  cry  to  draw  back,  but  succeeded  in  uttering  only 
a  tremulous  wail. 

"They'll  shoot  him,"  Mary  was  saying,  "oh,  they'll 
kill  him!" 

A  surge  of  terror  swept  Janet.  Next  thing  she  knew 
she  was  out  of  the  car  and  running  down  the  hillside 
among  the  stones  and  the  stalks  of  sagebrush,  frantic  to 
reach  him,  to  pull  him  out  of  view  of  the  men  beneath. 
Only  a  single  one  of  them  had  to  cast  a  glance  upward 
and  to  raise  his  gun  and  fire,  then  he  would  die.  He 
should  not  die .'  She  should  fling  herself  as  a  protection 
before  him  rather  than  that  he  should  be  slain ! 

On  a  sudden  a  hand  reached  up  from  a  rock  and  seized 
her  arm,  stopping  her  with  a  jerk.  Then  she  was 
roughly  pulled  down  beside  it.  The  man  was  Madden, 
the  sheriff . 

"What  in  hell  are  you  doing?"  he  demanded  harshly. 
"Have  you  gone  crazy?" 

His  grip  was  not  relinquished. 

"But  see  him!  Aren't  you  men  going  to  help  him? 
Are  you  going  to  let  him  be  killed  ?" 

Madden  forced  her  to  her  knees,  so  that  she  was  shel- 
tered by  the  outcrop  of  stone. 

"Any  man  who  can  smoke  a  cigar  like  that  at  such 
a  time  as  this  knows  just  what  he's  doing,"  was  the 
answer.  "Keep  quiet  and  watch." 

"Oh,  I  don't  want  to  see,"  she  said.  But  she  con- 
tinued to  look  with  fascinated  eyes  at  the  lone,  calm 
figure  on  the  dam. 

Presently  Madden  pushed  his  gun  forward  over  the 
rock. 

"They've  caught  sight  of  him,"  he  stated. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE   THUNDERBOLT 

THE  greater  part  of  the  number  of  bandits  had 
stopped  in  a  group  a  few  yards  from  the  base  of  the 
white  dam  core,  though  a  few  stragglers  were  some  way 
behind.  Among  these  Steele  Weir  made  out  the  figure 
of  one  whom  he  recognized  as  a  white  man;  he  whom 
the  guard  from  the  spring  had  mentioned  as  directing 
the  company;  and  when  at  a  number  of  exclamations 
from  Mexicans  who  perceived  the  engineer  the  man  lifted 
his  face,  Weir  saw  he  was  Burkhardt. 

No  more  than  this  was  needed  to  show  whose  the  hand 
behind  this  treacherous  conspiracy.  Clear,  too,  it  was 
that  Burkhardt,  determined  that  no  mistake  or  abandon- 
ment of  the  operation  should  occur,  had  come  to  see  it 
through  in  person.  Weir  could  ask  nothing  better;  he 
had  one  of  the  plotters  caught  in  the  act. 

Apparently  orders  had  been  to  carry  through  the  first 
part  of  the  diabolical  plan  of  destruction  in  silence,  that 
of  gaining  control  of  the  dam,  for  when  two  or  three 
Mexicans  flung  up  rifles  to  shoot  at  Weir  a  sharp  word 
from  another  Mexican,  seemingly  their  leader,  had 
checked  the  volley  and  shouted  to  Burkhardt. 

The  latter  had  stopped;  he  stared  for  a  few  seconds 
at  the  man  on  the  white  wall  above  and  finally  signaled 
with  a  wave  of  his  arm. 

"Come  down  here,"  he  ordered. 

But  Weir  made  no  move  to  obey.  He  continued  to 

256 


THE  THUNDERBOLT  257 

stand  motionless,  coolly  regarding  the  party  beneath. 
His  eyes  particularly  considered  two  men  who  carried 
wooden  boxes,  square  and  stout,  on  their  shoulders.  At 
last  he  spoke. 

"What  do  you  want  here?" 

"Come  down,  then  you'll  learn,"  Burkhardt  shouted 
up,  making  no  effort  to  hide  the  enmity  in  his  voice. 

Weir  puffed  at  his  cigar,  removed  it  from  his  lips  to 
glance  at  its  glowing  end,  while  the  Mexicans  stared  up 
at  him  in  silence,  puzzled  by  this  lone  guard  who  carried 
no  rifle,  who  did  not  flee  away  to  spread  an  alarm  and 
seek  aid,  and  who  so  unexpectedly  had  appeared  as  if 
anticipating  their  visit. 

Murmurs  broke  out.  Why  were  they  not  allowed  to 
shoot  him  at  once  in  the  approved  Mexican  bandit  fash- 
ion and  proceed  to  their  work?  If  he  were  not  shot  at 
once,  he  yet  could  escape  for  aid.  The  party  had  to 
ascend  the  hillside  in  order  to  mount  to  the  top  of  the 
concrete  work.  Time  would  be  required  to  place  and 
fire  their  charges  of  dynamite — and  they  were  eager  to 
get  at  the  loot  in  the  buildings  above. 

"Kill  him,"  Burkhardt  roared  suddenly,  jerking  forth 
his  revolver  and  blazing  at  the  engineer. 

The  bullet  sang  past  Weir's  head.  He  did  not  duck  ; 
indeed,  kept  his  place  calmly  while  the  Mexicans  were 
raising  their  guns,  as  if  to  show  his  supreme  contempt 
for  their  power.  But  at  the  instant  Burkhardt  fired 
again  and  a  dozen  rifles  blazed  he  sprang  back  and 
dropped  flat,  leaving  the  deadly  missiles  to  speed  harm- 
lessly above  the  dam. 

Raising  himself  cautiously  he  seized  the  end  of  a  fuse 
projecting  from  one  of  the  canisters  and  held  the  crimson 
end  of  his  cigar  against  it  until  a  sputter  of  sparks 
showed  that  it  had  caught.  From  this  fuse  he  turned 


258     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

to  the  one  in  the  second  can  and  repeated  the  operation. 

This  was  the  essence  of  his  plan  of  defense.  With 
guns  the  defenders  on  the  hillside  would  be  outnumbered 
and  probably  killed  in  an  attack.  The  information  that 
the  assailants  were  to  steal  up  the  canyon,  however, 
was  the  key  that  would  unlock  a  desperate  situation,  and 
his  mind  had  grasped  the  mode  and  means  of  defeating 
the  enemy. 

With  the  first  shots  quiet  had  returned.  The  night 
seemed  for  Weir  as  peaceful  as  ever,  the  earth  bathed 
in  moonlight,  the  camp  at  rest.  Only  before  him  there 
was  the  sputter  of  the  two  fuses,  one  at  the  right,  one  at 
the  left,  as  the  trains  of  fire  burned  towards  the  holes 
in  the  canisters.  He  watched  these  calculatingly.  His 
cigar  no  longer  of  service  had  been  cast  aside. 

All  at  once  he  rose  erect  again.  A  few  men  were  start- 
ing along  the  wall  to  climb  the  hillside,  but  the  greater 
number  were  gathered  about  Burkhardt  and  the  Mexican 
leader.  Now  Weir  glanced  at  them  and  now  at  the 
fuses. 

"I  warn  you  to  leave  this  dam  and  camp,  Burkhardt," 
he  shouted,  when  a  few  seconds  had  passed.  "Don't  say 
I  didn't  give  you  warning." 

Every  head  jerked  upward  at  this  surprising  re- 
appearance and  voice.  They  had  supposed  him  fled,  the 
men  down  there,  and  were  having  a  last  hasty  confer- 
ence, doubtless  as  to  the  wisdom  of  now  first  attacking 
the  camp.  A  grim  smile  came  on  the  engineer's  face. 
'  Their  astonishment  was  comic — or  would  have  been  at  a 
moment  less  perilous  and  fraught  with  less  grave  conse- 
quences. 

An  oath  ripped  from  Burkhardt's  lips.  An  angry 
curse  it  might  have  been  at  Madden  that  he  had  failed 
to  arrest  and  hold  the  engineer  according  to  plan.  He 


THE  THUNDERBOLT  /          259 

gestured  right  and  left,  yelling  something  to  the  men 
around  him.  He  himself  began  to  run  towards  one  end 
of  the  dam. 

Weir  stooped,  picked  up  one  of  the  canisters,  blew  on 
the  fuse  now  burned  so  near  the  hole.  Some  men  per- 
haps at  this  instant  would  have  quailed  for  their  own 
safety  and  at  the  prospect  of  hurling  death  among  oth- 
ers. For  death  this  tin  cylinder  meant  for  those  below. 
But  there  was  no  tremor  in  Steele  Weir's  arm  or  heart. 

He  was  the  man  of  metal  who  had  won  the  name  "Cold 
Steel" — calm,  implacable,  of  steel-like  purpose.  With 
such  enemies  he  could  hold  no  other  communion  than  that 
which  gave  death.  For  such  there  was  no  mercy.  By 
the  same  sort  of  law  that  they  would  execute  let  them 
suffer — the  law  of  lawlessness  and  force.  Destruction 
they  would  give,  destruction  let  them  gain. 

He  straightened.  He  took  a  last  look  at  the  snapping, 
sparkling,  smoldering  fuse,  then  flung  his  burden  full 
down  upon  the  spot  where  the  Mexicans  were  again  point- 
ing their  guns  at  him.  Swiftly  picking  up  the  second 
canister,  while  bullets  whined  by,  he  cast  it  down  after  the 
first.  A  glimpse  of  startled  faces  he  had,  of  men  at- 
tempting to  scatter  from  before  the  huge  missiles,  then 
he  flung  himself  full  length  upon  the  dam. 

Interminably  time  seemed  to  stretch  itself  out  as  lying 
there  he  listened,  waited,  sought  to  brace  himself  for 
the  impending  shock.  A  quick  doubt  assailed  his  mind. 
Had  the  charges  failed. 

All  at  once  the  earth  seemed  rent  by  a  roar  that  shook 
the  very  dam.  Followed  instantly  a  second  volume  of 
sound  more  terrific,  more  blasting  in  its  quality,  more 
dreadful  in  its  power,  deafening,  stunning,  as  if  the  world 
had  erupted. 

"Their  dynamite !"  Weir  breathed  to  himself. 


260     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

His  ear-drums  appeared  to  be  broken.  His  hat  was 
gone.  His  body  ached  from  the  tremendous  dispersion 
of  air.  But  that  he  could  still  hear  he  discovered  when 
through  his  shocked  auditory  nerves  he  distinguished,  as 
if  far  off,  faint  booming  echoes  from  the  hills. 

He  got  to  his  knees,  finally  to  his  feet.  Pressing  his 
hands  to  his  head  he  gazed  slowly  about.  Stones  and  a 
rain  of  earth  were  still  falling,  as  if  from  a  meteoric 
bombardment.  About  him  he  perceived  sections  of  wood- 
work shaken  to  pieces,  collapsed. 

Stepping  to  the  edge  of  the  dam  he  peered  downward. 
A  vast  hole  showed  in  the  earth  before  the  wall  though 
the  wall  itself  was  uninjured  and  only  smeared  with  a 
layer  of  soil.  Huge  rocks  lay  where  there  had  been  none 
before,  uprooted  and  flung  aside  by  the  explosion,  dis- 
persed by  the  gigantic  blast.  On  the  hillside  half  a  dozen 
men  were  picking  themselves  up  and  struggling  wildly  to 
flee.  Nearer,  a  few  other  forms  lay  in  the  moonlight 
mangled  and  still,  or  mangled,  and  writhing  in  pain.  Of 
all  the  rest — nothing. 

Almost  completely  Burkhardt's  predatory  band  had 
been  blotted  out.  Weir's  thunderbolt  had  struck  down 
into  its  very  heart,  and  it  had  vanished. 

As  he  turned  and  walked  towards  the  end  of  the  dam, 
he  staggered  a  little.  The  sight  had  shaken  even  his 
iron  nerve. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

WEIB.  STRIKES  WHILE  THE  IRON  IS  HOT 

IN  his  runabout,  with  Sheriff  Madden  at  his  side,  and 
followed  by  Atkinson  and  half  a  dozen  men  for  guards 
in  two  other  machines,  Weir  sped  along  the  road  to  San 
Mateo.  They  carried  with  them  Burkhardt,  who  had 
been  found  stunned  and  slightly  injured,  and  two  Mexi- 
can bandits  who  had  been  captured.  Those  of  the  party 
of  attackers  yet  alive  but  seriously  hurt  were  being 
treated  at  camp  by  Dr.  Hosmer,  while  the  young  en- 
gineers, armed  and  eager,  were  scouring  the  mountain 
side  for  the  few  Mexicans  who  had  got  away. 

It  seemed  a  miracle  that  Burkhardt  had  escaped  death, 
but  the  explanation  was  found  no  doubt  in  the  fact  he 
had  started  from  the  spot  where  the  canisters  fell  and 
so  at  the  moment  of  explosion  was  outside  the  area 
of  its  full  destruction.  To  Weir  the  matter  went  deeper 
than  that.  Providence  appeared  to  have  saved  him  for 
punishment,  for  the  long  term  of  imprisonment  he  de- 
served for  his  crimes. 

"I'd  much  rather  have  him  alive  than  dead,"  Steele 
had  remarked  to  Madden,  when  the  man  was  brought  up 
from  the  canyon  a  prisoner. 

The  tremendous  thunder-clap  of  sound  from  the  camp 
had  quickened  the  return  of  the  superintendent  and  his 
men,  already  reached  and  warned  by  the  doctor.  More, 
it  had  startled  even  the  drunken  workmen  so  that  when 
some  one  shouted  that  the  dam  had  been  blown  up  the 

261 


262     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

debauch  came  to  an  immediate  end,  the  house  was  de- 
serted and  the  throng,  incited  by  curiosity  and  wonder, 
went  staggering  and  running  for  camp. 

The  first  of  these  had  arrived  and  the  rest  were  tailing 
behind  for  half  a  mile  when  Weir  and  his  companions 
set  out  for  town,  the  blinding  headlights  of  the  ma- 
chines scattering  on  either  side  of  the  road  the  ap- 
proaching workmen.  It  was  not  likely  many  would  go 
back  to  the  house  when  they  were  told  at  headquarters 
how  narrowly  destruction  of  the  works  had  been  averted 
and  how  their  spree  had  been  a  move  in  the  plot.  Be- 
tween shame  at  being  duped  and  drowsiness  resulting 
from  drink  they  would,  after  a  look  at  the  hole  blown 
in  the  earth  at  the  base  of  the  dam,  want  to  seek  their 
bunk-houses. 

As  they  sped  towards  town  Weir  and  Madden  rapidly 
made  their  plans,  for  the  sheriff  having  witnessed  with 
his  own  eyes  the  enormity  of  the  plotters'  guilt  was  all 
for  quick  action. 

"These  engineers  of  yours  with  us  and  the  other  men 
Meyers  will  bring  down  can  be  thrown  as  a  guard  around 
the  jail,"  he  stated.  "I'll  swear  them  all  in  as  deputies. 
With  Sorenson  and  Vorse  locked  up  along  with  Burk- 
hardt — and  I'll  throw  Lucerio,  the  county  attorney,  in 
with  them  on  the  off  chance  he's  an  accomplice — there 
will  be  high  feeling  running  in  San  Mateo.  As  quick  as 
I  can  make  arrangements,  we'll  take  them  to  safe  quar- 
ters elsewhere — to-night  if  possible,  to-morrow  at  the 
latest,  in  fast  machines.  These  men  have  friends,  re- 
member." 

"You've  Burkhardt  handcuffed;  it  might  be  well  to 
gag  him,  too,  for  fear  the  crowd  might  make  trouble  if 
he  yelled  for  help,"  Weir  replied. 

"Yes,  we'll  do  that,  though  I  think  we  can  rush  him 


WEIR  STRIKES  263 

into  the  jail  before  any  one  knows  what's  happening." 
On  the  outskirts  of  town  therefore  the  cars  stopped. 
When  Burkhardt,  who  had  recovered  his  senses  and  with 
them  a  knowledge  of  his  plight,  perceived  the  sheriff's 
intention  his  rage  burst  all  bounds. 

"You  fool,  you  muddle-headed  blunderer!"  he  ex- 
claimed, with  a  string  of  oaths.  "Take  these  cuffs  off! 
You'll  lose  your  job  for  this  trick.  When  I  see  Soren- 
son " 

"When  you  see  him,  you'll  see  him;  and  that  will  be 
inside  a  cell,"  was  the  cool  rejoinder.  "I  didn't  know 
you  were  a  dynamiter  and  would-be  murderer  until  to- 
night, but  I  watched  you  at  work  and  saw  you  shoot 
twice  at  Weir." 

"You'll  unlock  these,  I  say,  here  and  now !"  And  the 
raging  voice  went  off  in  a  further  stream  of  biting  curses. 
"Look  at  me;  I'm  Burkhardt.  You're  crazy  to  talk  of 
throwing  me  in  jail,  with  my  influence  and " 

"Your  influence  be  damned,"  was  the  imperturbable 
answer.  "You'll  have  a  long  time  in  a  penitentiary  to 
see  how  much  influence  you  have,  if  you  don't  swing 
first." 

Burkhardt  struggled  fiercely  for  a  moment  against 
the  steel  bands  about  his  wrists  and  the  men  who  held 
him. 

"No  crook  like  this  Weir  shall  ever  send  me  behind 
bars,  or  any  other  man  put  me  there.  Wait  till  Soren- 
son  and  Vorse  and  Judge  Gordon  learn  what  you're  try- 
ing! Wait  till  they  find  out  you've  double-crossed  us 
for  this  engineer !  Wait  till  Gordon  turns  me  loose  with 
a  habeas  corpus,  you'll  sweat  blood  for  this  night's  work, 
Madden !" 

The  sheriff  shook  out  the  red  handkerchief  with  which 
he  expected  to  bind  the  prisoner's  mouth. 


264     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

"I'll  wait  for  a  long  time  if  I  wait  for  Gordon  to  issue 
the  writ,"  he  remarked.  "Seeing  that  he's  dead." 

"Dead!  You're  a  liar,  you  sneaking  cur;  you  can't 
bluff  me.  And  when  I'm  loose,  if  I  don't  fill  you  full 
of  lead  it  will  be  because " 

But  Burkhardt's  explanation  was  never  finished  on 
that  point,  for  Madden  whipped  the  rolled  handkerchief 
over  his  mouth  and  quickly  knotted  it  behind,  shutting 
off  the  flow  of  seething  vituperative  speech.  If  looks 
could  slay,  those  he  received  from  the  prisoner's  blood- 
shot maddened  eyes  would  have  dropped  the  sheriff  in  his 
tracks ;  as  it  was,  they  fell  harmless  against  the  law  of- 
ficer's person. 

"Tilings  have  changed  sort  of  sudden,  haven't  they, 
Burkhardt?"  Madden  stated,  sardonically.  "Never  can 
tell  what's  going  to  happen  between  supper  and  break- 
fast. Here  I  go  out  to  serve  a  warrant  on  Weir,  and 
instead  I'm  bringing  you  in  for  trying  a  low  I.W.W. 
trick.  Surprising  cards  a  fellow  sometimes  gets  on  the 
draw."  With  which  he  went  back  to  the  other  car. 

Counting  on  quickness  for  the  safe  delivery  of  his 
men  in  jail,  Madden  did  not  attempt  to  approach  the 
court  house  by  a  side  street.  On  the  contrary  he  drove 
fast  down  the  main  way,  with  the  other  two  cars  fol- 
lowing close,  passing  without  pause  through  the  crowd 
of  Mexicans  drawn  forth  in  wonder  at  the  booming  re- 
port of  the  explosion  that  had  sounded  from  the  dam. 

One  could  see  that  excitement  was  at  a  high  pitch. 
With  the  rumors  that  all  day  had  been  in  circulation, 
with  later  vague  tales  of  the  great  debauch  proceeding 
at  the  old  'dobe  house  half  way  up  the  road  to  camp, 
with  the  thunder-clap  that  had  burst  from  the  base  of 
the  mountains  coming  on  top  of  all,  every  man,  woman 
and  child  had  run  to  the  main  street,  where  those  in  the 


WEIR  STRIKES  265 

automobiles  could  see  by  wagging  tongues  and  ges- 
ticulating hands  that  speculation  was  rife  and  curiosity 
afire. 

"The  talk  this  evening  when  I  set  out  for  your  camp 
was  that  I  expected  to  bring  you  in  and  hang  you," 
Madden  said  dryly,  to  the  engineer.  "Quite  a  crowd  had 
come  to  town.  Plain  to  see  now  that  Burkhardt  and  his 
bunch  had  started  the  talk.  I  shouldn't  be  surprised 
if  there  had  been  trouble  had  I  arrested  and  locked  you 
up.  There  are  a  few  bad  Mexicans  around  these  parts 
that  would  do  anything  for  money,  and  it's  evident  from 
what's  happened  that  Sorenson's  gang  was  ready  to  go 
the  limit.  What  I'm  trying  to  figure  out  is  where  these 
fellows  Burkhardt  had  with  him  up  yonder  came  from." 

"I  can  tell  you.  From  across  the  line.  I've  seen 
plenty  just  like  them  down  there,"  Weir  affirmed.  "Look 
at  their  hats  and  clothes — but  you'll  be  able  to  make 
them  talk  after  a  while.  However,  you  won't  find  any 
of  them  speaking  English.  Offer  one  of  them  some 
money  and  a  trip  home  and  he'll  give  you  the  story  quick 
enough,  especially  after  you've  thrown  a  scare  into  him. 
We  can  afford  to  let  one  go  to  get  the  facts." 

"You  better  keep  out  of  sight  after  we  have  the  men 
in  the  jail.  Slip  behind  the  jail  to  the  rear  of  the  yard, 
and  when  I've  locked  them  up  and  told  Atkinson  what 
to  do  about  keeping  the  people  away  from  the  building, 
I'll  join  you  there." 

"I  understand,"  Weir  stated. 

"And  we  can  slip  off  and  grab  Vorse  if  he's  in  his 
saloon  and  then  Sorenson  before  any  one  knows  what's 
happening." 

"That's  right ;  don't  want  the  game  spoiled  now.  Here 
we  are.'* 

The  cars  had  arrived  at  the  gate  before  the  court- 


266     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

house.  Here,  too,  however,  the  crowd  was  densest,  hav- 
ing gathered  at  the  spot  as  if  the  roar  of  powder  from 
the  camp  was  an  overture  to  Weir's  arrest  and  appear- 
ance. It  had  proved  a  prelude  to  his  appearance,  at  any 
rate.  The  crowd  perceived  him  with  Madden  and  it  be- 
lieved him  a  prisoner  even  if  not  handcuffed  and  marched 
with  a  pistol  at  his  head. 

A  profound  silence  at  first  greeted  the  party  as  it 
alighted.  Madden,  assisting  Burkhardt  to  alight,  pulled 
the  man's  broad-brimmed  hat  low  over  his  eyes  to  con- 
ceal his  face  from  the  revealing  moonlight.  A  short 
struggle  again  ensued,  but  Burkhardt  finally  yielded  to 
the  pressure  exerted  by  his  companion  guards. 

A  murmur  of  astonishment  ran  over  the  surrounding 
throng,  each  instant  being  augmented  by  the  voices  of 
others  running  to  the  place.  Not  only  did  it  appear 
that  the  engineer  was  under  arrest,  but  likewise  others, — ' 
a  handcuffed,  gagged  man  and,  two  sullen  Mexicans, 
strangers  to  the  community.  Yet  a  number  of  the  on- 
lookers, possibly  men  with  Vorse's  or  Sorenson's  money 
in  their  pockets,  shouted  as  the  new-comers  moved 
through  the  press : 

"Killer,  murderer!  Hang  him,  shoot  him!"  And 
more  voices  began  to  join  in  the  cry. 

Clearly  the  intent  was  to  stir  up  feeling  in  the  crowd 
to  a  point  where  action  against  Weir  would  seem  a 
spontaneous  outbreak.  Even  women  joined  in  the  cry; 
curses  followed ;  fists  were  shaken. 

"Open  up  the  way,"  Madden  ordered,  as  a  surge  of 
the  crowd  threatened  to  surround  him  and  his  party. 
In  his  hand,  as  if  to  emphasize  his  command,  a  sixj 
shooter  swung  into  view,  sweeping  to  and  fro  and  menac- 
ing the  press  of  people. 

The  frightened  men  directly  before  the  party  strug- 


WEIR  STRIKES  267 

gled  to  get  out  of  line  of  the  weapon,  yielding  suddenly 
a  clear  passage. 

"Quick!  Around  the  courthouse  and  back  to  the 
jail,"  Madden  exclaimed  to  those  with  him. 

Pushing  forward  from  the  moonlight  into  the  shade 
cast  by  the  cottonwoods,  they  dragged  their  prisoners 
past  the  first  building  towards  the  low  stout  stone  struc- 
ture at  the  rear,  half-illuminated  and  half-concealed 
by  the  patches  of  light  and  shade  falling  from  the 
trees. 

A  minute  later  Madden  whipped  out  his  keys. 

"Two  men  remain  here  at  the  door  and  don't  be  afraid 
to  show  your  rifles  to  that  bunch,"  he  said.  "In  with 
you,  Burkhardt;  there's  a  nice  soft  stone  floor  to  sleep 
on.  Keep  those  Mexican  camp-burners  covered,  Atkin- 
son, till  I  get  the  cells  open.  You,  Weir,  slip  on  back 
there  in  the  shadow  and  wait  for  me." 

The  engineer  had  taken  but  three  steps  into  the  gloom 
along  the  outside  jail  wall,  glancing  about  to  avoid  any 
curious  straggler  of  the  crowd  already  hurrying  around 
the  court  house  towards  the  jail,  when  he  heard  a  call. 
In  the  advance  was  a  slim  well-dressed  Mexican,  full  in 
the  moonlight  and  very  important  of  bearing.  The  call 
was  directed  not  at  Weir  but  at  Madden. 

"You  got  him  all  right,  sheriff?"  he  said. 

"Yes.     He  came  in  with  me,"  was  the  answer. 

"But  who  are  these  others?" 

"Step  inside  and  I'll  tell  you,  Lucerio." 

The  county  attorney  joined  the  sheriff,  peered  inside 
the  doorway  and  hesitated.  It  was  dark  within ;  no  light 
showed  except  a  patch  of  moonlight  at  the  far  side  of 
the  building  that  fell  through  a  barred  window. 

"Go  right  in,"  Madden  exclaimed.  And  laying  hand 
on  the  other's  shoulder  he  forced  him  ahead.  The  door 


268     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

closed  after  the  pair.  Before  the  doorway  there  re- 
mained, however,  the  pair  of  young  engineers,  rifle  in 
hand,  whose  threatening  bearing  and  glistening  gun- 
barrels  were  apparent  even  in  the  patchy  light  dropping 
through  the  boughs.  At  a  distance  of  about  ten  feet  off 
the  crowd  of  people  halted,  staring  eagerly  at  the  jail 
building,  showing  their  white  teeth  as  they  carried  on 
low  talk  in  Spanish  and  awaiting  with  impatience  the  re- 
turn of  Madden  and  Lucerio  that  they  might  flood  them 
with  questions. 

Weir  remained  to  see  no  more,  for  the  increasing  crowd 
pushed  out  further  and  further  on  the  flanks,  a  circum- 
stance that  would  eventually  result  in  his  discovery.  So 
slipping  to  the  rear  of  the  jail  and  keeping  well  in  the 
shadows  he  gained  the  fence.  This  he  leaped  and,  light- 
ing a  cigarette,  examined  his  pistol,  then  proceeded  to 
smoke  calmly  until  Madden  arrived. 

"Hurry ;  slip  away,"  the  latter  said.  "They  wondered 
what  the  devil  I  dodged  back  here  for  and  are  coming, 
curious  as  cats." 

The  two  men  glided  away,  keeping  well  in  shadows 
until  they  gained  the  side  street  and  thence  passed  to 
the  main  thoroughfare. 

"What  if  Sorenson  and  Vorse  are  somewhere  in  that 
crowd?"  Madden  asked.  "They're  likely  to  be,  expect- 
ing your  arrest." 

"Then  we'll  have  to  wait  till  they  leave  it.  But  I 
don't  believe  they're  there.  They  won't  want  to  show 
their  hand  even  by  being  on  the  scene." 

"Probably  they've  found  out  Gordon  is  dead." 

"Probably.  But  on  the  other  side,  they  suppose  now 
that  the  dam  has  been  destroyed  and  that  I'm  locked 
up,"  Weir  said.  "Still,  I'll  guess  that  if  they've  learned 
Pollock  and  Martinez  and  I  were  at  Gordon's  all  the 


WEIR  STRIKES  269 

afternoon,  and  he  committed  suicide,  they'll  be  worrying 
some  just  the  same." 

Madden  glanced  at  his  companion. 

"I  don't  believe  we'll  bring  Vorse  in — alive,"  he  said. 

"That's  the  way  I  want  him,  and  Sorenson,  too.  I 
want  to  see  them  go  up  for  life,  but  if  not  that  then 
hanged.  But  a  life  term  for  both,  along  with  Burk- 
hardt,  is  my  choice.  I  want  them  to  suffer  as  my  father 
suffered.  Only  worse.  Dying's  too  easy  for  them.  Let 
them  have  hell  here  for  awhile  before  they  get  it  on  the 
other  side.  Let  the  iron  bars  and  stone  walls  kill  them. 
I  hope  they  live  for  twenty  years  to  gnaw  out  their 
hearts  every  day  and  every  night  behind  steel  doors. 
That  wouldn't  half  pay  what  they  owe.  But  if  they 
finish  in  prison,  knowing  there's  no  hope,  knowing  I've 
put  them  there  for  what  they  did  to  my  father  and  Jim 
Dent,  knowing  that  all  the  money  and  cattle  they  stole 
had  slipped  through  their  fingers,  that  they've  lost  all 
they  gained  and  more,  that  their  curses  and  crimes  are 
crushing  their  own  heads,  why,  that  will  help.  And 
Sorenson — Sorenson  there  every  day  knowing  his  son  lies 
a  helpless  cripple,  without  the  money  that  has  been  piled 
up  for  him !  I  couldn't  invent  a  worse  hell  for  him. 
And  that's  the  hell  he's  going  to  have !" 

Though  a  man  not  easy  to  move,  Madden  at  Weir's 
cold  inplacable  expression  of  hatred  shivered  slightly. 
Sorenson  and  his  accomplices  would  be  lucky  indeed  if 
they  died  by  the  rope. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

VORSE 

ACROSS  the  main  street  the  two  men  walked,  wearing 
their  hats  low  and  making  no  answer  to  shouted  ques- 
tions of  those  hurrying  to  the  courthouse  yard.  Al- 
ready the  grounds  about  the  court  house  and  the  street 
in  front  were  jammed  with  eager,  excited  Mexicans, 
thrilled  with  an  expectation  of  something  to  happen, 
though  they  knew  not  exactly  what.  The  murderer,  the 
killer,  they  have  taken  the  killer,  was  the  constant  state- 
ment tossed  from  mouth  to  mouth. 

"But  not  the  killer  they  think,"  Madden  said,  in  a  low 
aside  to  Weir  as  they  moved  ahead  on  their  errand. 

The  pair  were  now  advancing  toward  the  saloon,  along 
the  opposite  side  of  the  street  where  R  slight  shadow  af- 
forded them  concealment.  By  the  time  they  came  op- 
posite the  building  they  had  escaped  altogether  from  the 
crowd,  though  looking  thither  over  shoulder  they  could 
see  the  black  press  of  people  in  the  moonlight  at  the  pub- 
lic building;  and  here  the  street  was  empty  except  for  a 
few  belated  women  and  children  running  toward  the 
assemblage. 

Madden's  hand  suddenly  gripped  the  engineer's  arm  as 
they  were  about  to  step  forth  from  the  shadow  to  cross 
the  street  to  the  saloon. 

"There  he  is,"  the  sheriff  whispered. 

Vorse  had  pushed  open  the  slatted  door  of  his  place 
and  stepped  outside.  In  the  moonlight  his  figure  and 

270 


VORSE  271 

face  were  clearly  visible:  his  thin  whip-cord  body  and 
predatory  face,  and  bald  head  as  shiny  and  hard  as  a 
fish-scale.  He  wore  no  coat,  while  his  vest  hung  un- 
buttoned and  open  as  usual.  About  his  waist  was  an 
ammunition  belt  carrying  a  holster,  as  if  he  were  pre- 
pared for  action. 

Thus  he  stood  for  a  time,  hands  on  hips,  motionless, 
his  cruel  hatchet-like  face  directed  towards  the  scene 
further  along  the  street.  Presently  a  man  came  run- 
ning to  him,  Miguel,  his  bartender,  who  had  been  one 
of  the  two  men  serving  out  whiskey  to  the  workmen  at 
the  old  adobe  house  and  who  at  the  break-up  of  the 
spree  had  hastened  back  to  town  to  report  to  his  em- 
ployer. Now,  it  seemed,  he  had  fresher  news  to  give. 

"Yes,  it  is  the  engineer,  for  a  certainty,"  he  exclaimed 
panting,  as  he  stopped  before  Vorse.  "The  sheriff  ar- 
rested him  and  he  now  lies  in  jail  there.  It  is  said  he 
fought  and  tried  to  shoot  Madden,  but  that  the  sheriff 
was  too  quick  and  shot  the  gun  out  of  his  hand.  It  is 
said  also  that  the  dam  is  blown  into  a  million  little 
stones,  but  men  are  riding  there  on  horses  to  see  for 
themselves.  They  will  soon  return.  Anyway  a  fight 
there  was  up  there  undoubtedly,  for  Madden  brought  in 
not  only  the  engineer  but  three  other  men,  bound  and 
handcuffed  and  struggling  furiously,  trying  to  strike  and 
bite  the  crowd  like  mad  dogs.  From  time  to  time  the 
sheriff  had  to  beat  them  on  the  heads  with  his  pistol, 
especially  the  engineer,  who  is  the  worst.  I  did  not  see 
them,  but  those  who  did  said  their  faces  were  streaming 
with  blood." 

"All  right.  Go  find  Jose  Molina  and  'Silver* 
Leon.' 

"Are  they  not  up  in  the  hills  with  their  bands  of 
sheep  ?" 


272     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

"No.  They  are  here.  Look  around  till  you  find 
them;  then  send  them  to  me.5* 

"That  means  something  lively  to  happen,  eh?"  Miguel 
said  with  a  laugh. 

He  did  not  wait,  however,  for  an  answer,  but  set  off 
at  once  for  the  court  house. 

"I  hope  Meyers  shows  up  soon  with  more  men,"  Mad- 
den said  to  Weir.  "Those  two  sheepherders  of  Verse's 
are  a  pair  of  snakes ;  he  always  hires  that  kind ;  and  they 
probably  have  some  fellows  with  them  like  themselves." 

"Meyers  is  on  the  way  with  twenty  men  or  so  by  this 
time.  They  had  to  come  in  wagons,  as  we  had  the  cars. 
Atkinson  ought  to  be  able  to  stand  off  the  crowd 
with  the  half  dozen  boys  he  has  until  the  others  ar- 
rive." 

While  they  had  conducted  this  brief  exchange  of 
opinions  they  had  kept  their  gaze  on  the  saloon-keeper, 
who  continued  to  stand  before  his  door.  The  cold  and 
merciless  character  of  the  man  was  never  more  revealed 
than  now  as  he  waited  for  his  hired  assassins  to  come 
to  receive  orders.  Possessing  already  a  full  knowledge 
of  the  plot,  Weir  and  Madden  were  able  to  guess  what 
culmination  was  now  contemplated  and  measure  the  true 
depth  of  the  conspirators*  infamy.  The  sheriff  es- 
pecially boiled  with  inward  wrath  that  they  should  ex- 
pect to  make  him  not  only  a  dupe  but  a  tool  in  their 
crime. 

"It's  clear  they  never  intended  you  should  come  to  trial 
when  arrested,"  he  said  to  his  companion. 

"Certainly  not.  That  isn't  the  way  they  play  the 
game.  And  I  suppose  Vorse  there  imagines  the  cards 
are  all  falling  his  way  at  this  moment." 

"He's  going  in." 

"Good.     Now  then!" 


VORSE  273 

Weir  struck  off  across  the  street,  striding  forward  at 
a  pace  Madden  found  it  difficult  to  keep.  As  they  neared 
the  door,  Weir  loosened  the  gun  in  his  holster. 

In  this  action  the  sheriff  imitated  him  and  then  chang- 
ing his  mind  drew  the  weapon  itself.  Plain  man  that  he 
was,  he  was  an  instinctive  judge  of  character;  he  had 
encountered  men  of  Verse's  type  before,  less  shrewd  but 
equally  savage ;  their  nature  was  to  fight,  not  surrender ; 
their  way  was  to  kill  or  be  killed  in  the  final  issue.  He 
anticipated  no  arrest. 

He  felt  no  necessity,  however,  to  express  this  view  to 
the  engineer,  who  had  proved  himself  in  the  time  he  had 
been  at  San  Mateo  wholly  competent  to  deal  with  any 
situation  that  arose.  Moreover,  while  Vorse  had  had  a 
reputation  of  being  a  quick  shot  in  the  past,  he  was 
confident  Weir  was  his  master. 

With  a  quiet  movement  the  engineer  pushed  open  the 
door  and  stepped  into  the  saloon.  Madden  following 
him  had  allowed  the  slatted  door  to  swing  shut  again  and 
the  sound  of  its  hinges  caused  Vorse,  who  was  just  start- 
ing away  from  the  bar,  to  turn  about.  In  his  hand  was 
a  tray  holding  a  bottle  of  whiskey,  a  bottle  of  mineral 
water  and  glasses,  which  apparently  he  had  just  lifted 
up. 

For  a  space  of  ten  seconds  or  so  he  remained  un- 
moving,  the  tray  in  his  hand  and  his  eyes  regarding  th£ 
visitors  fixedly.  Behind  him  in  the  rear  of  the  saloon 
a  second  man  had  sprung  up  from  the  table  where  he 
sat,  but  after  that  first  startled  action  he,  too,  had  not 
stirred.  The  man  was  Sorenson. 

With  Madden  at  his  side  and  with  a  grim  smile  on  his 
lips  Weir  walked  slowly  towards  Vorse.  In  his  tread 
there  was  something  of  the  quality  of  a  tiger's,  the  light, 
deliberate,  poised  advance,  the  easy  and  dangerous  move- 


274     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

ment  of  body,  the  effortless  glide  of  a  powerful  animal 
ready  to  spring  and  strike.  His  hands  swung  idly  at 
his  sides,  but  that  did  not  mean  they  would  not  be  swift 
once  they  responded  to  the  call  of  the  brain  that  con- 
trolled them. 

"You  gentlemen  were  just  about  to  celebrate  my  down- 
fall, I  perceive,  by  pouring  a  libation,"  Weir  said. 
"Don't  let  me  interrupt.  Only  I  must  request  you  to 
conduct  the  proceedings  there  where  you're  standing, 
Vorse,  instead  of  at  the  rear  of  the  room:  Madden  and 
I  wish  a  good  view  of  the  ceremony.  If  Mr.  Sorenson 
will  be  so  agreeable  as  to  step  forward,  you  may  go 
ahead." 

Sorenson  did  not  join  Vorse,  but  instead  he  spoke. 

"Why  haven't  you  locked  up  your  prisoner,  Madden?" 
he  demanded  harshly.  "And  you're  letting  him  keep  his 
gun.  Don't  you  know  enough  to  disarm  a  murderer  and 
throw  him  into  j  ail  when  you  arrest  him  ?" 

"I  haven't  arrested  him  yet,"  was  the  sheriffs  answer. 

"Well,  do  it  then.  You  have  the  warrant  for  the 
scoundrel.  Perhaps  you  haven't  heard  he  almost  killed 
my  boy  Ed  last  night — and  you're  allowing  him  to  walk 
around  with  you  as  if  he  were  a  bosom  friend.  Do  your 
duty,  or  we'll  get  a  sheriff  who  will." 

"That's  why  I'm  here,  to  do  my  duty." 

"You  didn't  have  to  bring  this  man  here  to  do  it." 

"I  decided  to  bring  him,  however." 

From  Vorse  had  come  not  a  word.  Only  his  gleaming 
evil  eyes  continued  to  rest  on  the  two  men  without  wink 
or  change.  For  him  explanations  were  unnecessary ;  he 
had  divined  instantly  that  somewhere,  somehow  the  plot- 
ters' plans  had  gone  awry. 

"Did  you  know  that  Gordon  is  dead?"  Weir  asked,  all 
at  once. 


VORSE  275 

Vorse  lowered  the  tray  to  the  bar  and  ran  the  tip  of 
his  tongue  over  his  lips. 

"No,"  said  he,  "we  didn't  know  it." 

"He  deeded  his  property  over  this  evening  and  then 
swallowed  poison,"  the  engineer  stated.  "He  saw  the 
game  was  up." 

"You  can't  make  me  believe  your  lies,"  came  sneering 
from  Sorenson.  "And  you  shall  pay,  you  and  that  girl, 
for  every  broken  bone  in  my  boy's  body.  I'll  spend  my 
last  dollar  for  that  if  necessary.  Madden,  do  your  duty 
and  lock  him  up." 

The  sheriff  said  nothing,  but  lifted  his  gun  a  little. 
Vorse  by  a  slight  movement  of  his  body  had  edged  from 
the  bar  as  if  to  gain  freedom  for  action. 

"The  game's  up  for  you  men  too,"  Weir  said. 
"You've  murdered  and  robbed  and  swindled  in  this  coun- 
try long  enough ;  I've  got  the  proof  and  I'm  going  to  re- 
move you  from  this  community.  It's  not  I  who  will  be 
arrested.  You  killed  Jim  Dent  after  cleaning  him  out 
at  cards  and  then  made  my  father  believe  he  was  guilty 
of  the  crime.  All  I  fear  is  that  the  court  will  hang  you 
instead  of  sending  you  up  for  life ;  that  would  be  too  good 
for  you.  I  want  your  crooked  souls  to  die  a  thousand 
deaths  within  stone  walls  before  you  die  in  body.  The 
game's  up,  I  say.  I've  Saurez'  deposition  and  I've  the 
man  who  was  the  boy  looking  in  the  back  door  there 
that  day  thirty  years  ago  and  saw  you  shoot  Dent,  and 
he'll  go  on  the  stand  against  you." 

A  stillness  so  profound  that  one  could  hear  the  tiny 
insects  hovering  about  the  lamps  succeeded  this  state- 
ment. If  words  had  not  been  enough,  Weir's  cold,  harsh 
face  would  have  removed  the  men's  last  hope,  for  on  it 
was  not  a  single  trace  of  relenting.  A  stone  could  have 
been  no  flintier. 


276     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Well?"  Vorse  inquired  softly. 

His  arched  bony  nose  appeared  thinner  and  more 
hawk-like.  His  lips  were  compressed  in  a  white  scorn- 
ful smile,  while  his  eyelids  now  drooped  until  but  slits 
of  light  showed  from  the  orbs. 

"And  you  may  be  interested  to  know  Burkhardt  and 
some  of  the  Mexicans  he  hired  are  now  locked  up  in 
jail;  the  rest,  or  nearly  all,  are  dead,"  Weir  continued, 
with  slow  distinctness.  "Your  little  scheme  to  blow  up 
the  dam  and  burn  the  camp  failed.  We  caught  Burk- 
hardt at  the  spot  leading  the  gang.  Your  plot  to  make 
the  workmen  drunk  and  leave  the  dam  unprotected 
worked  well  enough  so  far  as  that  part  was  concerned, 
but  a  keg  of  powder  dropped  on  your  bunch  of  imported 
bandits  ended  that  part  of  the  show.  And  we  have 
Burkhardt!  You  gentlemen  are  going  to  join  him  in  the 
jail,  where  we  shall  give  you  all  the  care  and  attention 
you  deserve." 

Vorse  turned  his  head  about  towards  Sorenson. 

"Do  you  hear  ?"  he  asked. 

"Madden,  you've  too  much  sense  to  believe  all  this 
trumped-up  libel!"  Sorenson  exclaimed  furiously. 
"About  us,  respected  leaders  of  this  town!  Arrest  the 
blackguard  !** 

Even  facing  assured  proof  of  his  complicity  and  guilt, 
the  cattleman  still  believed  in  the  power  of  his  wealth 
and  influence,  in  his  ability  to  browbeat  opponents,  to 
command  the  man  he  had  elected  to  office,  to  dominate 
and  ruthlessly  crush  by  sheer  will  power  all  resistance, 
as  he  had  done  for  years. 

"I  take  no  orders  from  you,"  the  sheriff  re- 
plied. 

"Well,  I  suppose  I  can  empty  the  till  and  lock  the  safe 
before  going?"  Vorse  questioned. 


VORSE  277 

"No.  Keep  in  front  of  the  bar  where  you  are,"  the 
sheriff  commanded. 

"And  have  everything  stolen." 

"Your  bar-keeper  will  be  back  presently.  He  will 
look  after  things  for  you." 

"You  say  Burkhardt  is  locked  up?" 

"Yes." 

"That  will  hurt  his  pride,"  Vorse  laughed.  "He  al- 
ways swore  that  no  one  should  put  him  behind  bars.  He 
wouldn't  have  minded  so  much  finishing  in  a  gun-fight, 
but  to  serve  a  term  in  prison  would  surely  go  against  the 
grain  with  Burk.  Though  I  think  with  Sorenson " 

Weir's  eyes  had  never  left  the  speaker.  Through  the 
other's  inconsequential  talk  and  apparently  careless  ac- 
ceptance of  the  fact  of  arrest  the  engineer  had  noted  the 
tense  gathering  of  the  man's  body. 

"Put  your  hands  up,"  he  interrupted  at  this  point. 

Vorse  had  uttered  no  following  word  after  speaking 
Sorenson's  name ;  his  voice  terminated  abruptly.  At  the 
same  instant  his  right  hand  flew  to  his  holster  and 
whipped  out  his  gun.  It  was  the  advantageous  time  for 
which  he  had  waited,  for  Madden's  look  which  had  been 
moving  back  and  forth  from  Vorse  to  Sorenson  so  as  to 
cover  both  had  passed  to  the  latter.  And  Weir's  weapon 
was  undrawn. 

But  if  Vorse  drew  fast,  the  engineer's  motion  was  like 
a  flash  of  light.  His  weapon  leaped  on  a  level  with  the 
other's  breast.  The  report  sounded  a  second  before  that 
of  Vorse's  and  three  before  Madden's,  who  also  had 
fired. 

Then,  if  ever,  Steele  Weir  had  displayed  his  amazing 
speed  in  beating  an  enemy  to  his  gun,  for  Vorse  had  in- 
deed been  quick,  keyed  by  a  knowledge  that  for  him  this 
meant  imprisonment  or  freedom,  a  slow  death  or  liberty. 


278     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

For  a  minute  he  stood  half  crouching  as  he  had  been 
at  the  instant  of  shooting,  his  eyes  glaring  balefully  at 
his  enemy  and  the  thin  cruel  smile  on  his  lips,  while  the 
two  men  in  front  stood  warily  waiting  with  weapons  ex- 
tended. Then  Vorse  clutched  at  his  breast,  muttered 
thickly  and  toppled  over  full  length  on  the  floor. 

The  sharp  pungent  smell  of  powder  smoke  mingled 
with  the  reek  of  liquor. 

"He's  dead,"  Madden  said. 

"Yes." 

"Are  you  hit?" 

"No.  His  bullet  went  past  my  hip;  he  never  got  his 
gun  up." 

Madden  glanced  about  towards  the  rear  of  the  room. 
A  command  for  Sorenson  to  stop  broke  from  his  lips. 
Next  he  fired.  And  Weir  swinging  his  look  that  way 
saw  Sorenson's  form,  untouched  by  the  bullet,  vanishing 
through  the  rear  door  into  the  night.  Using  the  minute 
that  the  two  men's  surveillance  had  been  lifted  he  had 
escaped. 

"Hard  luck  when  we  had  him,"  Weir  growled. 

"He  can't  get  away." 

"I'm  not  so  sure.     And  he's  armed." 

"Hell  strike  for  home  to  get  his  car." 

"Or  to  the  office  for  money,"  Weir  exclaimed. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  FOURTH  MAN 

A  LAST  look  Steele  Weir  had  at  the  dead  man  on  the 
floor  before  he  turned  to  go  in  search  of  Sorenson.  Not 
so  astute  or  crafty  as  Judge  Gordon,  nor  so  intelligent 
as  Sorenson,  nor  so  belligerent  as  Burkhardt,  he  had 
been  as  rapacious  and  infinitely  more  cool-minded  than 
any  of  the  three.  If  anything,  he  was  the  one  of  them  all 
to  proceed  to  a  crime,  whether  fraud  or  murder,  in  sheer 
cold  blood  and  by  natural  craving.  No  uneasy  con- 
science would  have  ever  disturbed  his  rest :  no  remorse  or 
pity  ever  stirred  in  his  breast.  He  was  the  human  coun- 
terpart of  a  bird  of  prey. 

Well,  he  was  dead  now.  Three  of  the  quartette  who 
had  been  joined  by  avarice  and  lawless  actions  were  taken 
care  of — Burkhardt  a  prisoner,  Gordon  dead  by  self- 
administered  poison,  Vorse  by  bullets.  Almost  did  Steele 
Weir  feel  himself  an  embodiment  of  Fate,  clipping  the 
strands  of  these  men's  power  and  lives  as  with  shears. 
Sorenson  alone  remained  to  be  dealt  with  and  his  free- 
dom should  be  short. 

Beckoning  Madden,  he  went  swiftly  through  the  door 
where  the  cattleman  had  leaped  into  the  shadows.  Where 
the  gloom  ceased  and  the  space  behind  the  row  of  store 
buildings  was  clear  in  the  moonlight,  nothing  was  to  be 
seen.  Naturally  the  man  had  kept  within  black  shade 
in  his  flight. 

When  they  reached  the  rear  of  the  cattle  company's 

279 


280     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

office  building,  they  peered  in  through  its  barred  back 
windows,  but  all  was  dark  inside  the  structure  so  far  as 
they  could  determine.  To  all  appearance  Sorenson  had 
not  stopped  here:  it  was  quiet,  gloomy,  untenanted. 

"We'll  have  to  try  his  home  now,"  the  sheriff  stated. 
"If  we  don't  find  him  there,  we'll  set  the  telephones  go- 
ing to  warn  all  the  ranches  and  towns  around  to  be  on 
the  lookout  and  either  to  stop  or  report  him  if  he  shows 
up.  He  hasn't  start  enough  to  get  away  now." 

They  hastened  on  along  the  line  of  buildings  until  they 
reached  a  side  street.  But  when  they  had  proceeded  a 
short  way,  Weir  stopped. 

"I'm  not  satisfied  about  the  office,"  said  he.  "Suppose 
you  go  on  to  his  house  and  I'll  return  for  a  look  inside 
from  the  front.  If  you  fail  to  find  him  join  me  at  Mar- 
tinez' office,  where  no  one  is  likely  to  be  around  and  we 
can  then  lay  further  plans." 

"That  suits,"  Madden  responded,  and  set  off  alone. 

Weir's  alert  brain  had  been  turning  over  the  possi- 
bilities of  Sorenson's  course.  Rather  by  pursuing  what 
would  be  the  man's  line  of  reasoning  than  by  depending 
on  chance,  he  had  come  to  the  quick  decision  to  turn 
back  once  again  to  the  office.  Sorenson  would  so  act  as 
would  best  serve  his  immediate  escape  and  that  of  the  fu- 
ture. 

Would  he  expect  the  sheriff  and  the  engineer  to  look 
for  him  to  flee  by  the  speediest  means,  an  automobile, 
and  to  the  natural  avenue  of  escape,  the  railroad?  Yes. 
Therefore  on  that  expectation  he  would  adopt  another 
way  to  throw  off  pursuit.  And  perilous  as  a  delay  would 
be  in  getting  away  from  San  Mateo,  yet  he  must  risk  the 
few  minutes  necessary  to  get  money.  For  to  fly  with 
pockets  empty  meant  eventual,  certain  capture.  Money 
a  fugitive  from  justice  must  possess  above  everything 


THE  FOURTH  MAN  281 

in  order  to  possess  wings ;  and  no  one  would  know  that 
better  than  Sorenson. 

Though  Madden  and  he  had  seen  no  light  in  the  office 
building,  the  cattleman  nevertheless  might  have  been 
within.  If  he  had  been  in  the  vault,  he  could  safely  have 
lighted  a  candle  without  their  perceiving  its  beams ;  and 
though  the  safe  was  modern  it  probably  had  no  time  lock. 
Sorenson  could  unlock  it  with  a  few  twirls  of  the  com- 
bination, stuff  his  pockets  with  currency  and  negotiable 
paper  to  the  amount  of  thousands  and  then  slip  away. 

Fortunately  the  moonlight  was  to  Weir's  advantage. 
He  quickened  his  steps,  passed  round  the  corner  into 
the  main  street  and  moved  towards  the  building.  For 
him  the  crowd  at  the  court  house  at  that  moment  had 
no  interest;  one  person,  and  one  person  alone,  com- 
manded his  thoughts. 

How  correct  had  been  his  logic — logic  not  unmixed 
with  intuition,  perhaps — appeared  when  he  was  yet  some 
fifty  yards  away  from  the  door  he  sought.  A  tall  bulky 
figure  suddenly  stepped  forth  from  the  building  and  in- 
stantly ran  across  the  street  and  lost  itself  in  the  shift- 
ing, jostling  crowd  that  was  half-disclosed,  half-con- 
cealed by  the  broken  shadows  of  the  moonlit  trees. 

Steele  Weir  proceeded  to  a  spot  near  the  office  and 
halted.  His  first  impulse  to  rush  after  Sorenson  had 
been  promptly  suppressed,  as  cooler  judgment  ruled.  To 
seek  his  quarry  in  that  throng  would  be  labor  wasted, 
while  to  reveal  his  identity  would  be  to  court  a  disastrous 
interference  with  the  business  at  hand.  From  where  he 
stood  he  should  much  better  be  able  to  see  Sorenson  when 
he  did  emerge,  unless  he  chose  to  remain  in  the  crowd  or 
steal  away  at  the  rear  of  the  court  house  yard,  a  chance 
Weir  must  take. 

Five  minutes  passed.     The  restless,  talkative  Mexicans 


continued  to  swarm  and  buzz  with  excitement,  ceaselessly 
moving  about,  forming  and  reforming  in  groups,  agi- 
tatedly repeating  newer  and  wilder  rumors  concerning 
events.  Despite  Weir's  intent  watch  for  Sorenson,  the 
engineer  could  not  but  observe  the  mob's  manifestations, 
observe  them  with  sardonic  humor.  For  their  ebullition 
of  the  present  would  be  nothing  to  what  it  would  be  if 
they  learned  he  stood  across  the  street,  uncaged,  un- 
fettered, free  and  armed,  a  "gun-man"  loose  instead  of 
a  "gun-man"  in  jail. 

All  at  once  Weir  noted  out  of  the  tail  of  his  eye  a 
slight  stir  among  a  number  of  horses  standing  with  reins 
a-trail  before  a  store  a  little  way  down  the  street.  The 
horses  were  partly  in  the  light,  partly  in  the  shadow, 
so  that  all  he  could  see  was  that  one  or  two  of  them 
had  jerked  aside  quickly,  then  resumed  their  listless  pos- 
tures. 

He  was  about  to  withdraw  his  eyes  when  he  saw  a  man 
swing  upon  the  back  of  one  of  them  and  start  off  at 
an  easy  canter.  Weir  sprang  towards  the  spot  at  a  run. 
That  big  figure  could  only  be  Sorenson's,  for  no  Mexican 
he  had  ever  seen  in  San  Mateo  could  match  it.  And  the 
plan  of  escape  showed  the  other's  craft  in  an  emergency ; 
gradually  working  his  way  through  the  crowd  he  had  at 
last  gained  the  protective  shadow  of  the  building  on  that 
side  of  the  street  and  slipped  along  in  it  until  he  reached 
the  horses. 

Doubtless  the  man  had  conceived  the  plan  at  the  in- 
stant he  had  stepped  from  his  office,  sweeping  the  street 
by  one  gauging  look.  With  the  whole  town  assembled 
at  the  court  house,  his  departure  was  little  likely  to  be 
noted  by  the  Mexicans,  while  Madden  and  Weir  would 
never  suspect  him  of  riding  off  on  a  horse,  or  suspect  too 
late.  Indeed,  he  rode  at  first  as  if  in  no  great  haste, 


THE  FOURTH  MAN  283 

but  as  he  turned  his  mount  into  a  narrow  by-way,  more 
a  lane  than  a  street  that  disappeared  between  two  mud 
walls,  Weir  saw  him  strike  his  heels  into  the  pony's 
flanks. 

But  for  the  startled  movement  of  the  nearby  horses 
when  Sorenson  took  stirrup,  Weir  would  not  have  looked 
that  way.  He  might  possibly  have  seen  the  horseman 
start  off,  but  that  is  not  certain.  He  unquestionably 
would  have  supposed  him  an  ordinary  rider  if  he  had  not 
noticed  the  man  until  he  reached  the  mouth  of  the  lane. 

Meantime  the  engineer  had  made  his  best  speed  to  the 
line  of  waiting  horses.  Slowing  to  a  walk  so  as  not  to 
scare  them,  though  as  he  discovered  on  examination  most 
of  them  looked  too  bony  and  spiritless  for  that,  he  ap- 
proached and  carefully  inspected  the  bunch.  He  took 
his  time  in  the  selection:  the  more  haste  in  choosing  a 
mount  might  prove  less  speed  in  the  end.  He  tightened 
the  saddle-girths  and  ran  a  finger  along  the  head  straps 
of  the  bridle  of  the  horse  picked  to  judge  their  fit,  re- 
ceiving a  snap  from  the  pony's  teeth,  which  gave  him 
satisfaction.  Not  only  was  this  animal  a  wiry,  tough- 
looking  little  beast,  but  he  had  life. 

Up  into  the  saddle  Weir  went,  followed  Sorenson's 
line  to  the  lane,  down  which  he  swung.  Coming  out  into 
the  next  street,  he  pursued  it  to  an  intersecting  street, 
and  there  galloped  for  the  edge  of  town  without  trying 
to  guess  the  way  taken  by  his  enemy.  Once  he  reached 
the  open  fields  he  would  quickly  get  sight  of  the  man  rac- 
ing away  somewhere  on  the  mesa. 

Evidently  the  quarry  he  pursued  had  not  taken  so 
direct  a  course  as  Weir,  for  when  the  latter  at  length" 
came  forth  where  he  could  have  a  wide  view  he  perceived 
the  horseman  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off  and  further  east, 
galloping  south.  The  engineer  at  once  raced  thither  to 


284     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

gain  the  same  road  and  turning  into  it  made  for  Soren- 
son. 

Thus  the  two  men  sped  away  from  San  Mateo.  The 
wire  fences  and  the  adobe  houses  of  Mexicans  owning 
little  farms  adjoining  soon  ceased.  The  wide  mesa  lay 
on  either  side.  Though  a  quarter  of  a  mile  had  sepa- 
rated the  men  when  Weir  first  observed  the  other,  the  dis- 
tance between  had  been  increased  while  the  engineer  was 
gaining  the  road,  until  now  the  interval  was  almost  twice 
as  great. 

Weir  guessed  the  fleeing  man's  plan.  Instead  of  seek- 
ing the  railroad  for  the  present,  he  would  disappear  in 
the  mountains,  where  with  the  assistance  of  some  loyal 
employee,  cowman  or  sheepherder,  he  would  lie  hid  until 
the  first  fury  of  the  hunt  had  subsided.  Possibly  his 
bold  brain  even  conceived  the  idea  of  again  returning  to 
San  Mateo  some  dark  night  soon  and  further  looting  the 
office,  vigilance  being  relaxed. 

In  any  case,  he  would  expect  to  remain  safe  from  pur- 
suit in  a  mountain  fastness  until  either  on  horseback  or 
by  automobile  he  could  work  his  way  out  of  the  country. 
With  what  he  had  unquestionably  carried  off  he  would 
not  be  a  poor  man.  In  some  spot  far  away  he  could 
assume  a  new  name,  start  in  business  and  later  be  joined 
by  his  wife  and  crippled  son. 

Alas,  for  those  plans,  arising  like  mushrooms  on  the 
ruins  of  his  life!  Behind  him  followed  the  same  inexor- 
able antagonist  who  so  swiftly  had  brought  everything 
crashing  about  his  head.  Possibly  Sorenson  once  out  of 
the  town  had  failed  to  look  back ;  possibly  looking  back 
he  had  been  unable  to  distinguish  against  the  blur  of 
houses  and  trees  the  horseman  galloping  in  the  moonlight 
along  the  same  road. 

But  all  at  once  when  they  were  two  miles  away  from 


THE  FOURTH  MAN  285 

San  Mateo  he  discovered  Weir,  who  had  been  gradually 
cutting  down  the  space  between  until  now  again  he  was 
within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  his  quarry.  Sorenson  had 
been  riding  rapidly  but  not  hard ;  he  now  beat  his  horse 
to  a  furious  gallop, — a  good  pony,  too,  from  its  speed, 
showing  that  the  banker  as  well  as  Weir  had  picked  his 
mount  with  care. 

Weir  did  not  urge  his  horse  to  a  similar  pace,  only 
maintaining  a  fast  steady  gallop  that  kept  the  other  in 
sight  though  the  space  between  again  widened.  Appar- 
ently Sorenson  realized  the  folly  of  attempting  to  out- 
run his  pursuer  at  once,  for  he  soon  dropped  back  into 
a  regular,  mile-eating  gallop.  Gradually  in  turn  Weir 
crept  up  to  his  old  position. 

To  each  the  only  sound  was  that  of  drumming  hoof- 
beats.  In  front  rode  the  fleeing  man — dethroned  leader 
and  criminal  and  murderer.  Behind  relentlessly  came 
his  Nemesis,  the  son  of  the  man  whom  he  had  deceived 
and  damned  to  mental  suffering.  All  about  them  as  they 
flew  along  was  the  silent,  moonlit,  sage-covered  mesa. 
At  their  right  towered  the  misty,  unchanging  peaks,  as  if 
watching  unmoved  this  strange  race  of  two  human  beings. 
A  strange  race,  in  truth, — a  race  where  vengeance  rode. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE  VICTOB 

TEN  miles  the  two  men  had  gone  when  Sorenson's  horse 
began  to  fail.  The  rider's  weight  was  proving  too  much 
for  the  sturdy  little  animal  and  though  he  strove  to  main- 
tain his  speed  the  strain  told  on  lungs  and  legs.  Weir 
had  reduced  the  distance  first  to  three  hundred  yards, 
then  to  two  hundred,  and  at  last  but  a  hundred  sepa- 
rated him  from  the  man  and  horse  ahead. 

The  hard  chase  indeed  was  beginning  to  tell  on  his 
own  mount.  Flecks  of  foam  flew  from  its  lips;  its  neck 
was  wet  with  sweat ;  the  whistle  of  its  breath  was  audible 
to  the  engineer  at  every  stride.  For  as  both  men  had 
realized  that  now  the  end  could  not  be  far  off,  they  had 
pushed  their  horses  to  faster  and  faster  galloping. 

On  a  sudden  Sorenson  swung  his  animal  into  a  dim 
trail  leading  from  the  main  road  skirting  the  mountain 
range  to  the  base  of  the  mountains  themselves.  The  first 
slopes  were  but  a  mile  away,  covered  with  a  scattering 
growth  of  pinyon  pines.  Just  in  front,  too,  for  which 
the  trail  seemed  pointing,  was  a  dark  ravine  filled  with 
brush  that  rose  to  the  denser  timber  above.  This  was 
the  fugitive's  goal.  Once  he  could  fling  himself  from 
the  saddle  and  plunge  into  the  undergrowth  he  would 
be  safe  from  his  pursuer. 

The  two  ponies  struggled  on  with  exhausted  leaps. 
Weir  had  reduced  the  interval  to  seventy-five  yards  by 
the  time  half  the  distance  was  covered  and  to  fifty  as 

286 


THE  VICTOR  287 

they  drew  near  the  mouth  of  the  ravine.  He  measured 
his  gain  and  the  remaining  two  hundred  yards  or  so  with 
savage  eyes,  then  drew  his  revolver.  He  desired  to  take 
Sorenson  unharmed.  But  rather  than  that  the  man 
should  escape  he  would  kill  him. 

Sorenson's  horse  stumbled,  but  a  jerk  of  the  reins 
saved  him  and  kept  him  moving  on.  The  engineer  struck 
his  own  pony  fiercely  on  the  flank,  which  produced  a  tre- 
mendous effort  in  the  striving  beast  that  brought  it 
within  thirty  paces  or  so  of  Sorenson.  That,  however, 
was  the  best  it  could  do,  labor  as  it  would.  Its  knees 
were  trembling  at  every  stride,  its  head  swinging  heav- 

fly. 

Sorenson's  horse  suddenly  went  to  its  knees.  But  the 
man  leaping  clear  took  the  ground  on  his  feet  and  in- 
stantly set  off  at  a  run  for  the  line  of  brush  in  the  draw 
some  seventy  or  eighty  paces  away.  A  last  spurt  Weir's 
pony  made,  bringing  his  rider  to  within  thirty  yards  of 
the  cattleman,  who  glancing  over  his  shoulder  halted, 
swung  about,  fired  a  shot  and  again  started  to  run. 

The  pony  under  Weir  came  to  an  abrupt  stop,  shak- 
ing. He  was  done,  whether  from  exhaustion  or  the  bullet 
the  engineer  did  not  wait  to  see.  Flinging  himself  out 
the  saddle  he  raced  after  his  man,  taking  the  rough  trail 
leading  up  the  slope  in  swift  strides.  On  foot  Sorenson 
was  no  match  for  him.  But  the  latter  had  the  start ;  he 
was  now  almost  within  reach  of  the  thick  screen  of 
bushes;  and  he  bent  every  energy  to  make  the  ambus- 
cade. 

Still  running,  Weir  flung  up  his  gun  and  fired.  Close 
the  shot  must  have  gone  to  Sorenson,  so  close  as  to 
inject  into  the  man's  mind  recollection  of  his  pursuer's 
accuracy  and  a  fear  of  a  bullet  in  his  back,  for  when 
within  twenty  feet  of  the  bushes  he  dropped  behind  a 


288     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

small  bowlder,  whence  he  fired  twice  at  Weir  but  without 
striking  his  mark. 

Neither  man  after  the  furious  ride  and  the  concluding 
run  on  foot  was  fit  for  sure  marksmanship.  This  Weir 
realized,  so  stopped  where  he  was  some  forty  feet  off 
from  Sorenson's  stone  in  order  to  regain  his  breath  and 
calm  his  nerves.  Of  the  cattleman  he  could  see  nothing ; 
the  man  crouched  low  out  of  sight,  perhaps  reloading  his 
weapon,  perhaps  steeling  himself  for  a  dash  across  that 
small  moonlit  space  that  separated  him  from  safety,  or 
perhaps  preparing  for  a  quick  upward  spring  and  a 
fresh  volley  directed  at  his  foe. 

It  may  be  questioned  if  in  his  heart  Sorenson  was  not 
almost  disposed  to  fight  the  matter  out.  He  was  no 
coward;  his  original  hatred  for  the  engineer  had  by 
recent  events  been  swelled  to  a  diabolical  desire  to  kill; 
and  now  even  if  he,  Sorenson,  succeeded  in  slipping  away, 
his  whereabouts  would  be  known  unless  he  destroyed  the 
man.  Safety  demanded  that  he  not  only  escape  but 
escape  without  this  witness. 

Weir  had  not  sought  cover.  He  stood  upright,  his 
revolver  ready,  trusting  to  have  an  advantage  in  his 
speed  when  it  came  to  an  exchange  of  shots.  Then  he 
began  an  advance,  a  slow  noiseless  circling  advance  that 
at  the  same  time  of  taking  him  closer  to  his  enemy 
brought  him  round  on  his  flank. 

Sorenson's  hand  and  pistol  appeared  and  half  his  face 
while  three  shots  rattled  from  his  gun,  two  at  the  spot 
where  Weir  had  been  and  one  at  him  in  his  new  position, 
which  the  hiding  man  had  immediately  located.  The  last 
shot  ticked  the  engineer's  sleeve.  In  return  Weir  fired 
twice,  the  first  bullet  striking  the  rock  and  ricocheting 
off  with  a  loud  whine,  while  the  second  struck  the  pistol 
from  Sorenson's  hand. 


THE  VICTOR  289 

Instantly  Weir  sprang  forward. 

"Show  yourself,"  he  ordered.  And  the  kneeling  fugi- 
tive, disarmed,  gripping  his  bleeding  hand,  sullenly  arose 
to  his  feet.  "You've  led  me  a  chase,  but  I  have  you  at 
last,"  the  engineer  continued.  "Now  you're  going  back 
to  San  Mateo  and  jail.  Walk  towards  the  horses." 

Sorenson  cast  one  bitter  glance  at  the  thicket  in  the 
ravine;  by  only  the  little  matter  of  a  few  yards  he  had 
failed  to  gain  liberty.  For  Weir  his  visage  when  he 
looked  around  again  was  never  more  hard,  hostile,  full 
of  undying  hatred.  Though  balked,  he  was  not  submis- 
sive, and  was  the  kind  who  kept  his  animosity  to  the  end. 
Then  he  started  off  towards  the  horses,  his  own  which 
had  staggered  to  its  feet  again  and  Weir's,  both  stand- 
ing with  hanging  heads  and  heaving,  quivering  sides. 

All  at  once  the  cattleman  halted  and  faced  about. 

"Most  men  have  a  price,  and  I  suppose  you  have 
yours,"  he  said,  with  forced  calmness.  "I'm  ready  to 
pay  it." 

"You're  going  to  pay  it,"  was  the  answer. 

"How  much  will  you  ask  to  let  me  go  ?" 

"If  you  offered  me  ten  million,  which  you  haven't  got, 
I  wouldn't  accept  it,"  Weir  said,  harshly.  "There  isn't 
enough  money  in  the  world  to  buy  your  liberty.  You're 
going  back  to  San  Mateo,  and  from  there  to  the  peni- 
tentiary or  to  the  gallows,  one  or  the  other." 

"It  will  be  neither,"  Sorenson  stated. 

"You're  mistaken,  but  I  shall  not  argue  the  matter 
with  you.  Keep  walking  towards  the  horses." 

Sorenson's  lips  became  compressed.  He  glanced  down 
at  his  bleeding  hand,  shook  the  blood  from  his  fingers. 

"I  stay  here,"  said  he. 

Weir  went  a  step  nearer  and  thrust  his  face  forward, 
jaw  set,  eyes  smoldering. 


290     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Go  on,  I  say,"  he  exclaimed. 

But  the  other  did  not  retreat  before  him  or  indeed 
move  at  all.  A  sneer  lifted  his  gray  mustache. 

"You  have  a  gun ;  you're  a  killer ;  here  I  am  unarmed 
and  in  your  power,"  he  said.  "You  intend  to  take  me 
in;  I  propose  to  stay  here.  If  I  go  to  San  Mateo,  it 
will  be  as  a  dead  man.  I'll  see  whether  you  have  the 
nerve  to  shoot  me  down  where  I  now  stand.  If  you  have, 
go  to  it.  You  can  then  take  my  body  to  town,  but  I'll 
not  have  paid  the  price  you  name  and  I'll  have  the 
satisfaction  of  knowing  I  beat  you  at  the  last — in  that, 
at  least.  Your  bragging  will  be  empty.  Start  your 
shooting  any  time  you  please."  The  tone  spoke  complete 
contempt. 

Weir  said  nothing.  The  defiance,  the  supreme  auda- 
city of  this  assertion,  coming  so  unexpectedly,  surprised 
him  and  left  him  at  a  loss.  He  would  not  kill  an  un- 
resisting man,  even  Sorenson,  his  worst  enemy.  Soren- 
son  in  his  place  probably  would  not  have  hesitated  to  do 
so,  for  he  had  no  fine  scruples  in  such  matters ;  but  for 
Steele  Weir  the  thing  was  no  more  possible  than  striking 
a  woman  or  a  child. 

It  was  not  a  question  of  nerve,  as  the  other  had  stated. 
It  was  a  test  of  brutality  and  consciencelessness.  To 
shoot  a  man  while  escaping  is  one  thing;  to  kill  him 
while  a  prisoner,  however  contemptuous  and  brazen,  was 
another.  But  there  are  means  other  than  bullets  for 
handling  obstinate  prisoners. 

Weir  shifted  his  weapon  so  as  to  grasp  the  barrel  and 
have  the  butt  free. 

"I'll  leave  your  execution  to  the  proper  officials,  if 
an  execution  is  what  you  want,"  he  said.  "Now  will 
you  go?"  he  demanded,  threateningly. 

His  foe  gazed  at  the  clubbed  pistol  and  turned  as  if 


THE  VICTOR  291 

to  yield.  Next  instant  he  whirled,  lunging  at  Weir  and 
Hinging  his  arms  about  his  captor.  An  exultant  excla- 
mation slipped  from  his  lips ;  his  hot  breath  fell  on  the 
engineer's  cheek;  his  eyes  glared  into  those  of  the  man 
his  arms  encircled.  He  had  tricked  Weir  by  his  pre- 
tense of  obstinacy,  led  him  to  weaken  his  guard  and 
had  him  in  his  grasp. 

Weir  braced  himself  to  resist  the  man's  effort  to  force 
him  down.  Strong  arms  the  other  had,  now  doubly 
strengthened  by  hate  and  a  belief  in  victory.  All  the 
power  of  Sorenson's  great  body  was  exerted  to  lift  him 
off  his  feet,  crush  him  in  a  terrific  bear-hug,  put  him  on 
his  back  and  render  him  helpless;  and  Weir  in  his  turn 
was  tensing  his  muscles  and  arching  his  frame  with  every 
ounce  of  his  lean,  iron-like  frame. 

Thus  they  swayed  and  struggled  in  the  moonlight, 
without  witnesses.  A  sinister  silent  fight,  marked  only 
by  their  fierce  breathing  and  fiercer  heart-beats.  The 
pistol  had  dropped  from  Steele  Weir's  hand ;  instead  of 
attempting  to  break  the  other's  hold  he  had  yielded  to 
it  and  pushing  his  own  arms  forward  had  clasped  his 
hands  behind  Sorenson's  back  in  the  wrestler's  true  de- 
fense to  such  an  attack. 

Once  Sorenson  almost  had  him  on  his  knees,  but  by  a 
quick  powerful  upthrust  of  his  legs  he  regained  his  up- 
right position.  However,  it  had  been  a  close  shave  for 
Weir,  for  he  well  knew  that  his  opponent  would  use  any 
tactics,  fair  or  foul,  to  kill  him  if  he  once  lay  on  his  back. 

"You  hound  from  hell!"  Sorenson  snarled.  "You 
crippled  my  boy,  and  you  shall  die  for  that.  You've 
ruined  me  in  San  Mateo,  and  you  shall  die  for  that.  You 
jailed  Burkhardt  and  poisoned  Gordon  and  shot  Vorse, 
and  you  shall  die  for  that.  I'm  going  to  choke  the  life 
out  of  you,  and  grind  your  dead  head  into  the  dust,  and 


then  spit  on  you.  That's  how  I  treat  snakes.  Say  your 
prayers,  if  you  know  any,  for  you'll  never  get  another 
chance.  Your  friends  won't  recognize  your  remains 
when  I'm  done  with  you." 

Venomous  and  impassioned,  all  the  hate  in  the  man's 
heart  flowed  forth  in  a  fuming  stream.  For  hate  and 
murderous  desire  was  all  that  was  left  him  in  the  wreck 
of  life  caused  by  the  engineer.  If  he  could  no  longer 
rule,  he  could  at  least  destroy. 

Weir  had  made  no  response  to  the  fierce  imprecations. 
He  was  working  his  hands  upward,  straining  his  arms 
so  as  to  reach  Sorenson's  head. 

"When  the  coyotes  are  gnawing  your  skull,"  Soren- 
son went  on,  raging,  "when  the  worms  are  feeding  on 
you " 

The  words  died  in  a  gurgle  of  pain.  Weir's  hands  had 
closed  about  his  temples,  a  finger  sunk  in  each  eye,  forc- 
ing his  head  back.  Sorenson  shook  himself  frantically 
to  break  the  torturing  hold.  His  head  went  farther  and 
farther  back  as  if  it  seemed  his  neck  would  snap;  his 
mouth  opened  to  gasp,  "Oh,  God!"  and  all  at  once  his 
hug  slipped  apart. 

Instantly  Weir  tripped  him,  falling  on  top.  Reach- 
ing out  like  a  flash  he  seized  his  pistol  lying  on  the 
ground  and  brought  it  down  on  the  head  of  his  enemy, 
who  momentarily  blinded  and  suffering  could  not  resist. 
Sorenson  went  limp.  From  the  savage  beast  of  a  minute 
before  he  had  been  changed  to  a  huge,  motionless,  sprawl- 
ing figure,  with  face  upturned  to  the  moon. 

And  on  that  face  the  victor  of  the  life  and  death 
struggle  could  still  behold,  through  the  contorted  lines 
stamped  by  pain,  the  man's  brutal  passion  and  fixed  ma- 
levolence. 

Weir  arose. 


THE  VICTOR  293 

"You  felt  the  hound  of  hell's  teeth,"  he  muttered. 

With  thongs  from  one  of  the  saddles  he  bound  Soren- 
son's  hands,  pulling  the  knots  tight  and  hard.  The  pros- 
trate man  moaned,  opened  his  eyes.  Weir  jerked  him 
dazed  and  staggering  to  his  feet. 

"Up  into  the  saddle  with  you  if  you  don't  want  an- 
other rap  on  the  head,"  Steele  ordered,  bruskly.  "And 
go  straight  this  time.  From  now  on  I'll  take  you  at  your 
word  and  put  a  hole  through  your  black  heart  if  you 
try  any  more  tricks." 

When  his  prisoner  was  mounted,  he  fastened  his  ankles 
together  by  another  thong  under  the  belly  of  the  pony. 
Weir  was  taking  no  chances.  Up  into  his  own  saddle 
then  he  swung  himself. 

No  exultant  curses  now  came  from  his  captive's  lips. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

A  FINAL  CHALLENGE 

THE  hour  was  drawing  near  midnight  when  Weir  and 
his  prisoner  entered  the  town.  Most  of  the  women  and 
children  of  the  crowd  of  Mexicans  had  gone  to  their 
homes,  but  men  yet  remained  before  the  court  house  and 
in  the  street,  discussing  and  arguing  the  exciting  events 
of  the  night. 

In  some  mysterious  manner  knowledge  that  Burkhardt 
and  not  Weir  was  the  prisoner  in  the  jail,  together  with 
news  of  Judge  Gordon's  suicide  and  Vorse's  death,  had 
spread  from  mouth  to  mouth.  Amazement  and  incredu- 
lity had  been  followed  by  an  aroused  feeling  of  anger, 
for  to  the  Mexicans  it  appeared  that  the  crushing  blow 
dealt  the  leaders  of  the  town  was  the  arbitrary  act  of 
the  man  they  believed  a  lawless  gun-man.  Were  not 
Weir's  foremen  and  engineers  guarding  the  jail?  Men 
who  were  strangers,  not  even  citizens  of  the  county? 

But  though  an  undercurrent  of  feeling  ran  among  the 
talking  groups,  gradually  increasing  as  the  time  passed, 
yet  was  there  no  active  desire  on  the  part  of  all  or  a 
concerted  movement  to  drive  away  the  seeming  invaders 
of  the  law.  For  any  such  attempt  a  strong  leader  was 
necessary.  There  was  none:  Madden  frowned  upon 
them,  only  saying  as  he  moved  about  that  he  was  ex- 
ecuting the  law;  Sorenson,  the  dominating  figure  of  the 
town,  and  Burkhardt's,  Vorse's  and  Gordon's  friend,  was 
strangely  absent. 

294 


A  FINAL  CHALLENGE  295 

The  determined  guard  about  the  jail  was  in  itself  n 
deterrent  to  mob  action.  Meyers  had  brought  twenty 
or  more  men  from  camp,  armed  and  alert,  who  with  those 
already  about  the  building  constituted  a  force  to  make 
any  crowd  of  Mexicans,  however  angry,  think  twice 
before  seeking  to  rescue  prisoners.  But  the  wish  and 
the  spirit  were  not  lacking.  Employees  of  the  plotters, 
men  who  had  received  favors  from  Sorenson  or  Vorse  or 
Burkhardt,  Mexicans  of  a  naturally  vicious  and  unruly 
temper,  were  all  for  rushing  the  jail.  The  great  num- 
ber of  the  people,  however,  peaceful  and  indolent,  pre- 
ferred to  content  themselves  with  satisfying  their  curios- 
ity by  talk  instead  of  seeking  a  taste  of  blood.  And  so  as 
ar  result  of  this  divided  opinion  the  hostility  for  Weir  had 
not  expressed  itself  in  an  effort  to  assail  the  keepers  of 
the  jail. 

When  he  was  discovered  to  have  returned  to  town, 
this  angry  feeling  assumed  a  menacing  form.  He  ap- 
proached the  court  house  by  the  side  street,  Sorenson 
riding  at  his  side,  for  it  was  his  plan  to  lodge  his  pris- 
oner in  the  jail  with  as  much  secrecy  as  possible.  Never- 
theless in  this  he  was  disappointed;  men  saw  him  arrive, 
assist  his  prisoner  to  alight  and  climb  the  board  fence 
about  the  yard;  and  drawn  by  the  expectation  of  new 
events  the  nearer  groups  hastened  forward. 

Weir  impelled  his  man  towards  the  jail. 

"Stand  back,"  he  commanded  the  Mexicans. 

The  latter  at  first  stared  in  astonishment  at  beholding 
the  pair,  one  of  whom  was  San  Mateo's  foremost  citizen, 
now  sullenly  advancing  with  wrists  bound.  Exclamations 
burst  from  their  lips. 

At  that  a  flash  of  hope  filled  Sorenson's  breast. 

"To  my  rescue,  friends !"  he  cried,  beginning  to 
struggle. 


296     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

Weir  jerked  him  ahead  fiercely  and  cast  fiercer  looks 
at  the  Mexicans. 

"This  man  is  under  arrest.  And  remember  I  can  still 
shoot  straight,"  he  warned. 

Towards  him  came  Madden  running,  who  in  Weir's 
disappearance  earlier  in  the  night  he  had  guessed  a  pur- 
suit of  the  cattleman  and  had  therefore  returned  to  the 
jail.  He  placed  himself  at  Sorenson's  right. 

"Whoever  tries  to  take  Sorenson  from  the  hands  of 
the  law  does  so  at  his  own  peril,"  he  exclaimed. 

A  few  mocking  shouts  resulted.  These  were  gradually 
increased  until  the  Mexicans,  now  being  joined  by  scores 
of  others  from  the  street,  became  a  howling,  cursing,  hys- 
terical mob,  crying  Sorenson  and  Burkhardt's  innocence, 
calling  down  imprecations  on  the  heads  of  the  sheriff 
and  the  engineer,  stirred  by  certain  lawless  spirits  to 
wilder  and  wilder  passion. 

Weir  and  Madden  had  not  been  standing  still,  for  the 
crowd  was  not  yet  numerous  enough  at  first  or  bold 
enough  to  attack.  Moreover  the  two  men  held  their 
pistols  well  in  view.  Forcing  Sorenson  ahead,  driving 
apart  those  who  blocked  their  way,  they  pushed  across 
the  yard  until  but  a  few  paces  from  the  jail. 

One  Mexican,  a  ranch  hand  from  one  of  Vorse's 
ranches,  wearing  a  great  high-peaked  felt  hat  and  chaps, 
insolently  thrust  himself  before  the  trio,  spitting  at 
Weir's  face  and  in  Spanish  begging  companions  to  help 
him  release  Sorenson.  His  right  hand  was  resting  on  his 
holster  as  if  but  awaiting  an  excuse  to  use  his  gun. 

"Get  to  one  side,"  was  Weir's  harsh  order. 

The  man's  answer  was  a  string  of  foul  curses.  Like 
a  panther  the  engineer  leaped  forward  and  struck  the 
fellow  on  the  side  of  his  head  with  revolver  barrel, 
dropping  him  where  he  stood. 


A  FINAL  CHALLENGE  297 

As  the  crowd  remained  suddejkg  mute,  unmoving,  their 
howls  checked  by  this  swift  reprisal,  Weir  spoke  to 
Madden : 

"Quick !    To  the  door !" 

Each  with  an  arm  in  Sorenson's,  they  made  a  run  for 
the  jail,  passed  through  the  line  of  armed  guards  and 
for  the  moment  were  safe.  The  sheriff  lost  no  time  in 
dragging  the  prisoner  inside  and  when  presently  he 
stepped  forth  again,  locking  the  door  after  him,  he 
showed  a  relieved  face. 

"I  put  irons  on  him,  hands  and  feet,"  he  informed 
Weir.  "He's  out  of  the  way  at  any  rate  if  we're  in  for 
a  row." 

That  was  exactly  what  appeared  in  prospect.  Only 
the  rifles  in  the  grip  of  the  two  dozen  men  about  the 
jail  kept  the  now  thoroughly  aroused  mob  from 
rushing  forward.  From  yelling  it  had  changed  to  low 
fierce  murmurs  that  bespoke  a  more  desperate 
mood. 

"We  ought  to  move  the  men  somewhere  else,"  Steele 
Weir  stated.  "Pretty  soon  they'll  go  for  arms  and  then 
we'll  have  real  trouble." 

"I  arranged  while  you  were  gone  to  transfer  them  to 
the  county  seat  in  the  next  county,"  Madden  said. 
"Telephoned  the  sheriff;  he's  expecting  them.  To-mor- 
row we  can  take  them  to  Santa  Fe,  out  of  this  part  of 
the  country  till  time  for  their  trial.  I  placed  the  auto- 
mobile your  man  brought  Burkhardt  in  from  the  dam 
and  another  machine  back  in  the  alley;  they  are  there 
now  in  the  shadow." 

"Good.  The  quicker  you  take  them,  the  better.  They 
ought  to  be  gagged  when  brought  out.  Get  them  here  to 
the  door;  the  men  who  are  to  drive  should  have  the  cars 
ready,  engines  going " 


298     IX  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

"That's  fixed.  Your  superintendent  will  drive  one 
car  and  one  of  the  engineers  the  other;  they  can  slip 
back  there  at  once.  Six  more  of  the  guards  are  to  go 
with  us." 

"All  right.  You  know  whom  you  want.  Station  them 
here  at  the  door  to  rush  the  prisoners  back  the  instant 
you're  ready.  Have  them  go  round  to  the  rear  on  the 
dark  side  of  the  jail;  they  should  gain  a  good  start 
before  they're  discovered." 

Madden  called  from  the  line  Atkinson  and  the  men 
whom  he  had  chosen  to  accompany  him  on  the  night  ride. 
A  brief  parley  followed.  Then  he  and  two  of  the  engi- 
neers went  inside  the  jail,  while  the  superintendent  and 
one  young  fellow  stole  away  in  the  shadows  towards  the 
spot  where  stood  the  cars. 

Meanwhile  the  throng  had  grown  until  it  filled  all  the 
space  about  the  rear  of  the  court  house  and  formed  a 
mass  of  human  bodies  on  which  the  checkered  moonlight 
played  reaching  to  within  half  a  dozen  paces  of  the  jail. 
A  shot  rang  out  and  a  bullet  struck  the  jail.  It  was 
like  a  match  lighted  near  powder,  that  if  allowed  to  burn 
would  set  off  an  explosion.  One  shot  would  lead  to  others 
from  reckless  spirits,  to  a  volley  and  in  the  end  to  an 
onslaught. 

Perhaps  that  was  the  reasoning  and  the  purpose  of 
the  man  who  had  fired.  In  any  case,  it  must  not  be  re- 
peated. 

Weir  strode  forward  towards  the  crowd. 

"If  that  man,  or  any  of  you,  want  to  shoot  this  out 
with  me,  let  him  show  himself,"  he  said,  threateningly 
and  swinging  the  muzzle  of  his  weapon  along  the  line 
of  faces. 

A  quick  retreat  on  the  part  of  those  nearest  marked 
the  respect  with  which  it  was  considered.  Frantically 


A  FINAL  CHALLENGE  299 

they  strove  to  push  further  back  into  the  mob,  clawing 
and  elbowing. 

"If  you  try  any  more  shots,"  he  continued,  speaking 
in  Spanish  as  before,  "those  rifles  will  open  fire."  He 
paused  to  allow  this  information  to  have  full  effect. 
"Finally,  if  you  attempt  wrecking  this  jail,  the  three 
hundred  workmen  from  the  dam  will  march  down  to  San 
Mateo  and  teach  you  proper  observance  of  the  law.  If 
you're  really  looking  for  trouble,  those  three  hundred 
men  will  give  this  town  trouble  that  will  be  remembered 
for  twenty  years." 

Standing  there  in  the  moonlight  between  the  two 
parties,  between  the  thin  line  of  sentinels  about  the  jail 
and  the  dense  mob  in  front,  Steele  Weir's  action  seemed 
the  height  of  rashness.  A  rush  of  the  Mexicans  and  he 
would  be  overwhelmed,  a  cowardly  shot  from  somewhere 
in  the  rear  and  he  might  be  killed.  It  was  like  inviting 
disaster. 

If,  however,  he  recognized  his  danger,  he  gave  no  sign 
of  it.  By  the  power  of  his  gun  and  sheer  boldness  he 
faced  them,  calm,  fearless,  masterful.  His  unexpected 
advance  had  surprised  the  Mexicans,  left  them  confused 
and  uncertain.  Wild  and  sinister  tales  concerning  his 
prowess  magnified  him  in  their  eyes  notwithstanding  their 
animosity.  Now  they  seemed  to  feel  his  iron  will  beating 
against  their  faces. 

During  the  pause  that  ensued  Weir  heard  the  jail  door 
open.  Madden  was  preparing  to  take  his  prisoners  out. 

"I'm  not  seeking  trouble,  but  I'm  not  avoiding  it,"  the 
engineer  proceeded,  for  this  was  the  critical  minute,  and 
he  sought  to  have  all  eyes  focused  upon  him  instead  of 
upon  the  activity  at  his  back.  "The  sheriff  represents 
the  law  here  in  San  Mateo,  and  I  give  you  plain  warning 
that  every  man  who  attempts  violence  to-night  will  be 


300     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

called  upon  to  pay  the  account.  By  to-morrow  the  Gov- 
ernor may  have  soldiers  stationed  in  your  houses  and  in 
your  streets,  for  the  prisoners  are  now  the  prisoners  of 
the  state,  arrested  for  stealing  cattle " 

That  was  a  happy  inspiration.  Had  Weir  stated  the 
whole  category  of  Sorenson's  and  Burkhardt's  crimes, 
including  murder  and  dynamiting,  he  could  not  have 
struck  so  shrewdly  as  in  naming  the  sin  of  cattle-steal- 
ing. For  this  was  a  cattle  country  and  even  the  most 
ignorant  Mexican  grasped  the  significance  of  this  charge. 

A  visible  stir  answered  the  statement. 

"For  stealing  cattle  from  other  men" — he  did  not 
trouble  to  mention  the  fact  the  crime  had  occurred  thirty 
years  previous — "and  for  that  and  other  things  Sheriff 
Madden  has  arrested  them.  Because  they  are  rich,  their 
guilt  is  all  the  worse.  Perhaps  they  have  taken  cattle 
belonging  to  you,  who  knows?  That  may  come  out  in 
their  trial ;  if  they  have  taken  them,  you  shall  have  them 
back." 

From  the  rear  of  the  grounds  came  the  low  sounds  of 
automobile  engines  being  started.  Weir  dared  not  look 
about  to  learn  if  Madden  and  his  party  were  safely  on 
their  way  thither.  As  for  the  Mexicans,  the  speaker's 
words  had  created  a  sensation.  For  men  were  there 
who  owned  small  herds  now  feeding  on  the  range,  and 
from  anger  their  minds  yielded  to  sudden  anxiety;  each 
saw  himself  a  possible  sufferer  from  cattle  depredations ; 
and  in  the  minds  of  these,  at  least,  thought  of  loss  sup- 
planted thought  of  Sorenson  and  Burkhardt. 

"I  helped  Sheriff  Madden  arrest  these  men  because 
they  stole  cattle,  possibly  some  of  your  steers  among 
them.  Is  that  why  you  would  like  to  lynch  me,  as  I've 
heard  you  wanted  to  do?"  he  demanded,  savagely.  "Be- 
cause I  save  your  animals?  Or  is  it  because  I  shot  that 


A  FINAL  CHALLENGE  301 

renegade  Mexican  whom  Ed  Sorenson  hired  to  try  and 
kill  me?  Ed  Sorenson,  yes.  Sheriff  Madden  has  the 
knowledge  of  it.  Not  only  would  Sorenson  the  father  like 
to  see  me  die  because  I  know  about  his  cattle-stealing, 
but  Ed  Sorenson,  the  son,  hired  that  strange  Mexican 
to  shoot  me  from  the  dark  because  I  stopped  him  from 
trying  to  steal  a  girl.  Has  Ed  Sorenson  left  your  daugh- 
ters alone?  I  would  save  your  daughters  from  his  evil 
hands,  as  I  would  your  cattle  from  his  father's." 

A  man  all  at  once  pushed  forth  from  the  crowd,  wrath- 
fully  elbowing  his  way  among  neighbors.  He  was 
Naharo,  the  Mexican  who  had  chatted  once  with  Mar- 
tinez in  the  latter's  office. 

"It  is  true,"  he  shouted,  facing  his  countrymen.  "I, 
Naharo,  vow  it  the  truth.  For  I  saw  this  engineer  take 
a  young  girl  away  from  Ed  Sorenson  in  the  restaurant 
at  Bowenville  that  the  scoundrel  intended  to  seduce.  It 
is  so,  the  truth ;  the  engineer  saved  her.  And  are  there 
not  men  among  you" — his  voice  gained  a  savage,  rasping 
note — "whose  girls  have  been  betrayed  by  the  cattle- 
stealing  Sorenson's  son?" 

"Where  is  he — where  is  he  now?"  some  one  shouted, 
angrily.  It  might  have  been  a  father  who  stood  in 
Naharo's  case. 

"He  lies  crippled,"  Weir  stated.  "Last  night  he  tried 
to  steal  yet  another  girl  from  San  Mateo,  and  fleeing 
when  overtaken  was  pitched  from  his  car  and  crushed 
against  a  rock.  He  will  steal  no  more  daughters  of 
San  Mateo." 

Sensation  on  sensation.  The  crowd  fairly  hummed 
with  new  excitement  resulting  from  these  disclosures. 
Ed  Sorenson's  ways  were  known  to  most  and  the  revela- 
tions seemed  true  to  his  character;  and  from  believing 
the  statements  of  the  son  to  accepting  those  concerning 


302     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

the  father  was  but  a  step.  Cattle — girls !  It  began  to 
look  as  if  this  engineer  was  in  the  right. 

With  half  of  his  attention  Weir  was  harkening  for  the 
sound  of  starting  automobiles.  He  had  heard  the  scuffle 
of  feet  when  the  party  slipped  away  from  the  jail  door 
into  the  shadows.  He  had  almost  measured  their  passage 
to  the  alley.  Ah,  and  now !  There  was  a  quick  grind  of 
gears,  the  pop  of  exhausts,  then  a  dying  of  the  sounds 
as  the  cars  left  the  grounds. 

"You  wished  to  kill  me  when  you  came  here,  but  I  had 
not  then  and  have  not  now  any  intention  of  dying,"  he 
stated.  "For  I  have  work  to  do — and  work  for  you  if 
you  want  it.  Instead  of  stealing  your  cattle  and  daugh- 
ters as  the  Sorensons  did,  I'll  give  you  jobs.  We  are 
about  to  begin  digging  canals  and  ditches  on  the  mesa; 
I  want  men  and  teams — you  and  yours  at  good  pay  for 
a  good  day's  work.  Our  quarrel  of  the  past  need  not 
be  remembered.  I  have  never  been  your  enemy,  only  the 
enemy  of  the  four  men  who  deceived  and  oppressed  you. 
And  now  they  are  gone,  two  dead  and  two  off  to  be  tried 
for  their  crimes." 

Weir  stood  for  a  moment  silent,  while  they  as  silently 
stared  at  him. 

"Ha,  bueno,  we  shall  work !"  Naharo  exclaimed. 

"We  shall  work  and  build  your  ditches,  senor,"  cried 
a  score  of  voices. 

Then  the  cry  swelled  to  a  noisy  chorus.  The  crowd 
began  to  stir  and  disintegrate  and  break  into  groups, 
gesticulating,  talking,  discussing  all  the  astonishing 
items  of  news  given  by  the  engineer,  from  the  particulars 
of  the  Sorensons5  depravity  to  announcement  of  renewed 
hire. 

"Senor,  we  hold  you  in  greatest  respect,"  said  a  man  to 
Weir,  smiling  in  friendly  fashion. 


A  FINAL  CHALLENGE  303 

"And  also  your  pistol,"  said  a  companion,  laughing. 

"No  one  will  need  to  wear  pistols  here  in  San  Mateo 
from  now  on,"  was  the  answer.  And  he  politely  bade 
them  good-night. 

His  belief  was  sincere.  San  Mateo  had  gained  an  end 
of  violence,  and  henceforth  his  weapon  would  gather 
dust.  He  had  triumphed.  Not  only  had  he  subdued  his 
enemies,  but  he  had  won  the  good  will  of  the  people. 

One  thing  more  alone  remained  to  be  won  to  bring 
him  utter  happiness. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

t 

THE  RECLUSE 

As  Weir  drove  his  car  homeward  through  the  moon- 
light, he  knew  that  at  last  the  dark  shadow  upon  his  life 
had  passed  forever.  Memories  poignant  and  sad,  memo- 
ries bitter  and  stern,  returned  again  and  again  to  his 
mind;  but  these  henceforth  with  time  would  soften  and 
change.  Of  these  his  last  visit  to  his  father  was  most 
vivid,  that  day  in  spring  that  had  proved  their  last 
together.  .  .  . 

He  had  been  there  with  his  father  for  a  week,  and 
now  must  go.  He  was  chopping  wood  that  morning,  with 
his  father  looking  on.  Steele  had  cast  a  measuring 
glance  at  the  pile  of  wood  cut,  then  wiped  the  fine  dew 
of  perspiration  from  his  brow,  buried  the  ax  blade  in  the 
chopping-log  and  seated  himself  upon  a  sawn  block.  A 
smile  shaped  itself  upon  his  lips.  Though  he  never 
chopped  wood  now  except  on  these  rare  visits  to  his  re- 
cluse father's  cabin  here  on  the  forested  mountain  side, 
his  tall  lean  figure  was  as  tough  and  wiry  as  ever,  his 
arm  as  tireless,  his  eye  as  true  to  cut  the  exact  line. 
There  was  yet  no  softening  of  his  fibers  or  fat  on  his 
ribs,  and  there  would  be  neither  if  he  had  anything  to 
say  about  it. 

From  the  little  Idaho  town  in  the  valley  below,  which 
he  viewed  through  the  clearing  before  the  cabin,  his  gaze 
came  around  to  his  father  seated  on  the  doorstep.  Taci- 

304 


THE  RECLUSE  305 

turn  and  brooding  the  latter  had  always  been,  but  the 
pity  and  sorrow  struck  at  the  son's  heart  as  he  perceived 
what  a  mere  shell  of  a  man  now  sat  there,  gray-haired, 
bent,  fleshless,  consumed  body  and  soul  by  the  destroying 
acid  of  some  dark  secret.  Even  when  a  lad  Steele  Weir 
had  sensed  the  mystery  clouding  his  father's  life.  Like 
an  evil  spell  it  had  condemned  them  to  solitude  here  in 
the  mountains,  until  Steele's  youth  at  last  rebelled  and 
he  had  departed,  hungry  for  schooling,  for  human  society 
and  for  a  wider  field  of  action. 

What  that  secret  might  be  he  had  for  years  not  al- 
lowed himself  to  speculate.  Unbidden  at  times  the  mem- 
ory of  certain  revealing  looks  or  acts  of  his  father's 
floated  into  his  mind : — a  dread  if  not  terror  that  on  oc- 
casion dilated  the  elder  man's  eyes,  and  a  steadfast  driv- 
ing of  himself  at  work  as  if  to  obliterate  painful  and 
despairing  thoughts,  and  an  uneasy,  furtive  vigilance 
when  forced  to  visit  town.  Once  when  a  stranger,  a 
short  heavy-set  bearded  man,  had  unexpectedly  appeared 
at  the  door,  his  father  had  leaped  for  the  revolver  hang- 
ing in  its  holster  on  the  wall. 

On  catching  a  second  view  of  the  chance  visitor  he  had 
exclaimed,  "Not  Burkhardt  after  all !"  With  which  he 
burst  into  a  wild  laugh,  the  shrill  mirthless  laugh  of  a 
man  suddenly  freed  of  a  terrible  fear.  However,  as  he 
returned  the  gun-belt  to  its  place,  his  hand  shook  so 
that  he  pawed  all  around  the  nail  on  which  it  was  ac- 
customed to  hang. 

Steele  Weir  would  never  forget  that  moment  of  panic, 
his  father's  spring  to  the  wall  and  following  laugh — the 
only  laugh  he  had  heard  from  those  lips ;  and  though  but 
twelve  years  old  at  the  time  he  could  not  misread  the 
episode.  On  another  occasion  he  found  his  father  kneel- 
ing at  the  grave  under  the  giant  pine  beyond  the  cabin — 


306     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

the  grave  of  the  gentle  mother  of  whom  Steele  had  but 
dim  recollections — and  his  father's  hands  were  clasped, 
his  head  bowed.  With  an  infinite  yearning  he  had  longed 
to  creep  forward  and  comfort  him  by  his  presence,  by 
a  clasp  of  the  hand,  but  the  recollection  of  his  father's 
habitual  chill  reserve  daunted  him  and  he  stole  away. 

On  his  own  life  the  mystery  had  left  its  gloomy  im- 
press. A  solitary  and  joyless  boyhood,  overhung  by 
he  knew  not  what  danger,  haunted  by  a  parent's  lurking 
fear  and  anguish,  had  made  him  a  silent,  cold,  ever  watch- 
ful man,  never  entirely  free  from  the  expectation  that 
his  father's  sealed  past  at  some  instant  would  open  and 
confront  him  with  the  terrible  facts.  For  that  reason 
he  felt  that  the  success  he  had  gained  as  an  engineer, 
a  success  won  by  relentless  toil  and  solid  ability,  rested 
on  a  quicksand.  For  that  cause  he  had  welcomed  engi- 
neering projects  full  of  danger  and  by  his  indifference 
to  that  danger  gained  his  name  "Cold  Steel." 

Now  on  this  day  with  his  father  he  once  again  put 
the  question  he  always  asked  on  his  visits,  and  with  no 
more  hope  of  a  consenting  reply  than  before. 

"I  must  be  going  to-morrow.  Won't  you  come  along 
with  me  this  time,  father?  I  want  you  to  live  with  me, 
so  that  I  can  look  after  you  and  be  with  you.  We  can 
fix  up  a  good  cabin  at  the  engineering  camp.  You're 
not  so  strong  as  you  were ;  you  could  fall  sick  here  and 
die  and  never  a  person  know  it.  I  doubt  if  you  spend, 
making  yourself  comfortable,  one  dollar  in  ten  of  the 
money  I  send  you.  You  would  be  interested  in  the  build- 
ing of  this  big  irrigation  project  I'm  to  direct." 

His  father  appeared  to  shudder. 

"No,  no,"  he  muttered.  "I've  lived  here  and  I'll  die 
here." 

"That's    what    I'm    afraid    of,"    Steele    responded. 


I 
THE  RECLUSE  307 

"Afraid  you  may  become  sick  and  die  for  lack  of  care.'* 

"No.     I'll  remain,  my  son." 

That  was  conclusive.  It  was  the  answer  of  not  only 
thirty  years  of  living  at  the  spot,  but  of  his  secret  dread. 
Steele  saw  once  more  the  stark  fear  in  his  eyes,  the  fear 
of  contact  with  men,  of  venturing  out  into  the  world,  of 
precipitating  fate. 

For  a  time  his  father  plucked  his  white  unkempt  beard 
with  unsteady  hand. 

"Where's  the  place  you're  going  this  time?"  he  pres- 
ently inquired,  without  real  interest. 

"New  Mexico." 

On  the  elder's  face  appeared  suddenly  a  gray  shadow 
as  if  the  blood  were  ebbing  from  his  heart. 

"Where  in  New  Mexico?"  he  whispered. 

"The  town  of  San  Mateo." 

His  father  struggled  to  his  feet.  With  one  hand  he 
clutched  the  doorframe  for  support.  The  skin  of  his 
cheeks  had  gone  a  sickly  white. 

"San  Mateo — San  Mateo!"  he  gasped.  "Not  there, 
not  there,  Steele!  Keep  away,  keep  away,  keep  away! 
My  God,  not  San  Mateo — you !" 

He  swayed  as  if  about  to  fall  full  length,  gesturing 
blindly  before  his  face  as  if  to  sweep  away  the  thought, 
while  his  son  ran  towards  him. 

"Father,  you're  sick,"  Steele  exclaimed,  putting  an 
arm  about  the  other.  And,  in  truth,  the  elder  man 
seemed  fainting,  ready  to  collapse.  "Come,  let  me  help 
you  in  so  you  can  lie  down.  I  must  bring  a  doctor." 

Steele  almost  carried  him  to  the  bed.  On  it  his  father 
sank,  remaining  with  closed  eyes  and  scarcely  breath- 
ing. 

"No  doctor;  bring  no  doctor,"  he  said  painfully,  at 
last.  "I  feel — I  feel  as  if  dying." 


308     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

"I  must  bring  a  doctor.  And  I  have  a  flask  of  whis- 
key ;  let  me  pour  you  a  little  to  revive  your  heart." 

The  change  the  words  wrought  from  passivity  to 
action  was  startling.  The  elder  Weir  arose  suddenly  on 
elbow,  glaring  fiercely. 

"Whiskey,  never!  It  brought  me  to  this,  it  damned 

my  life.  If  it  had  not  been  for  whiskey "  Without 

finishing  the  words  he  fell  back  on  the  bed. 

The  loathing,  the  hatred,  the  utter  horror  of  his  ex- 
clamation, banished  from  his  son's  mind  further  thought 
of  using  this  stimulant. 

"But  the  doctor?"  he  inquired,  gently. 

"No  use,  Steele.  I've  been  the  same  as  a  dead  man 
for  days.  Just  ashes.  I  want  to  die ;  I  want  to  lie  by 
your  mother  there  under  the  big  pine.  And  maybe  I'll 
have  peace — peace." 

Steele  took  in  his  own  the  wasted  hand  hanging  from 
the  bed.  He  held  it  tight,  with  a  feeling  of  infinite 
tragedy. 

"You'll  be  yourself  again  soon,"  he  said  comfortingly, 
though  without  faith  in  the  assurance. 

His  father's  lips  moved  in  a  whisper. 

"No ;  my  time  is  here  at  last,"  said  he.  "But  don't  go 
to  San  Mateo,  Steele, — don't  go,  don't  go.  Oh,  my  God, 
spare  me  that !" 

"Would  you  have  me  break  my  word?  I  never  have 
to  any  man,  father.  I  accepted  this  offer  and  signed  a 
contract.  I'm  morally  bound;  these  men  are  depending 
on  me.  Were  you  ever  at  San  Mateo?  Was  it  something 
that  happened  there  that  makes  you  fearful  to  have  me 
go  ?  San  Mateo  is  a  thousand  miles  from  here." 

The  face  before  him  became  like  the  face  of  a  corpse. 
For  an  instant  Steele's  heart  went  cold  in  the  belief  that 
his  father  had  died  under  the  effect  of  his  declaration. 


THE  RECLUSE  309 

But  at  last  the  eyelids  raised,  the  eyes  gazed  at  him. 
And  all  at  once  the  features  of  the  harsh  visage  seemed 
softened,  changed,  lightened  by  a  dim  illumination. 

"I  see  you  now  as  you  are,  a  man,  stronger  than  I 
ever  was,"  he  murmured.  "I  lived  in  fear,  but  my  fear 
was  not  for  myself.  Had  I  been  alone,  nothing  would 
have  mattered  after  your  mother  died.  But  my  fear 
was  for  you — and  of  you.  I  was  afraid  your  life  would 
be  blasted;  I  was  in  terror  lest  you  should  hate  and 
idespise  me  when  you  learned  the  truth.  So  I  sought  to 
conceal  it." 

"You  had  no  need  to  fear  that." 

"I  see  it  now.  Tell  me  everything  or  nothing  as  you 
wish  about  your  going  to  San  Mateo  to  work;  it  will 
frighten  me  no  longer." 

Steele  briefly  spoke  of  his  new  work  there,  of  the 
magnitude  of  the  project  and  the  desire  he  had  had  that 
his  father  might  be  with  him. 

"I'm  proud  of  you,"  his  father  said.  "God  knows  I 
have  not  been  the  parent  I  would  or  should  have  been." 

"It's  enough  for  me  if  your  heart's  easy  now." 

"I  feel  as  if  I  were  gaining  peace  at  last  and — and 
I  must  speak.  In  San  Mateo — ah,  Steele,  you  will  hear 
of  me  there, — you  may  have  to  fight  the  damning  in- 
fluence of  my  name  and  past,  but  I  know  now  you'll  come 
through  it.  And  all  I  pray  for  is  that  you  can  retain  a 
little  love  for  me  despite  everything." 

"Whatever  it  is  I  shall  hear  of  my  father,  I  should 
rather  hear  it  from  his  lips  than  from  strangers'." 

The  hand  in  his  closed  spasmodically.  For  a  long 
time  nothing  was  said,  and  the  only  sound  in  the  room 
was  the  ticking  of  the  tin  clock  on  the  shelf  busily 
measuring  off  the  seconds  of  the  old  man's  failing  span. 
To  Steele  it  was  as  if  his  father  was  slowly  summoning 


310     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

the  few  remaining  shreds  of  his  fortitude  to  reveal  the 
cancer  of  his  past. 

"I'm  a  branded  murderer,"  he  said  at  last,  gasping. 

"But  you  never  killed  a  man  out  of  mere  wanton  de- 
sire to  slay,"  Steele  responded  firmly.  "I  too  have 
killed  men  in  fights  in  Mexico.  That  fact  doesn't  weight 
my  mind." 

"In  the  line  of  your  duty,  in  the  line  of  your  duty. 
But  I  was  drunk.  He  was  a  friend.  When  I  became 
sober,  I  saw  him  with  a  bullet  hole  in  his  head." 

"Do  you  remember  nothing  of  shooting  him?" 

"Nothing,  nothing." 

"How  do  you  know  you  killed  him  ?"  his  son  demanded 
"with  inexorable  logic.  "What  is  the  proof?" 

A  low  groan  escaped  his  father. 

"Men  said  I  had  killed  him.  But  my  own  mind  was 
blank." 

"Who  were  the  men?    Were  they  present  at  the  time?" 

"They  were  four — Sorenson,  Vorse,  Gordon,  Burk- 
hardt." 

"Were  you  arrested  and  tried?" 

"No.  They  helped  me  to  escape.  Because  of  your 
mother,  they  said,  and  because  they  said  they  were  my 
friends.  But  I  never  felt  they  were  really  friends.  For 
they  were  always  against  newcomers  and  wanted  to  keep 
things  in  their  own  hands.  You  were  only  three  or  four 
years  old  at  that  time,  Steele,  so  you  wouldn't  remember 
anything  about  matters  there." 

"What  were  you  doing  at  San  Mateo,  father?" 

Now  that  the  hideous  past  at  last  stood  uncovered  the 
son  was  able  to  turn  upon  it  his  incisive  mind ;  he  would 
drag  out  and  scrutinize  every  bone  of  the  skeleton  which 
had  terrorized  his  father  and  shadowed  his  own  life. 
Facts  faced  are  never  so  dreadful  as  fears  unmaterialized. 


THE  RECLUSE  311 

Ancl  more,  he  sought  with  all  the  love  of  a  son  for  cir- 
cumstances that  would  mitigate,  excuse,  or  even  justify 
his  father's  act. 

"I  was  ranching,"  was  the  low  answer.  "I  had  come 
to  San  Mateo  two  years  before  from  the  east,  bringing 
you  and  your  mother  and  considerable  money.  I  bought 
a  ranch  and  stocked  it  with  cattle;  I  was  doing  well,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  I  was  new  to  the  country  and  the  busi- 
ness. Also  I  was  making  friends,  and  I  had  been  nomi- 
nated for  the  legislature  of  the  Territory  to  run  against 
Gordon.  But  I  had  taken  to  drinking  with  the  men  I 
met,  other  cattlemen,  because  I  fancied  no  harm  in  it. 
And  then  while  in  a  drunken  stupor  I  killed  Jim  Dent." 

"Had  you  quarreled  with  him?" 

"Never,  never — till  that  moment  I  killed  Jim.  They 
said  I  quarreled  with  him  then.  But  I  remember  nothing. 
Jim  was  my  best  friend ;  I  would  have  trusted  him  with 
my  life.  Even  now  I  can't  make  it  seem  real  I  shot  him, 
though  it  must  be  true  by  those  four  witnesses." 

"What  of  your  ranch?     Your  political  nomination?" 

"I  withdrew  from  the  latter ;  that  was  one  of  the  terms 
made  by  Gordon  on  which  they  were  to  help  me  escape 
instead  of  turning  me  over  for  prosecution.  And  my 
ranch  and  cattle,  I  had  to  deed  them  over  to  the  four 
men  too." 

"Then  their  friendship  wasn't  disinterested,"  Steele 
said  quickly,  with  suspicion  dawning  on  his  face. 

"They  weren't  really  friends,  I  knew  that." 

"How  were  they  to  arrange  your  escape?" 

The  senior  Weir  seemed  to  shudder  at  the  question. 

"By  bribing  the  sheriff  and  county  attorney.  I  was 
then  to  leave  the  country  at  once,  never  showing  my  face 
again,  or  I  should  be  arrested.  I  was  still  half  dazed 
by  whiskey  and  terror ;  I  took  your  mother  and  you  and 


312     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

fled  this  far,  when  my  money  gave  out.  So  here  I've  re- 
mained ever  since,  for  here  I  could  hide  and  here  was  her 
grave." 

"What's  the  last  thing  you  remember  of  the  circum- 
stance previous  to  learning  Dent  was  dead?"  he  asked. 

"Ah,  though  I  had  been  drinking  I  can  remember 
clearly  up  to  the  time  I  stopped  playing  poker  with  Jim 
and  the  four  men,  for  we  were  losing  and  I  felt  they 
were  working  a  crooked  deal  on  us  somehow.  I  asked 
Jim  to  quit  also,  for  though  I  hadn't  lost  much  he  was 
losing  fast  and  playing  recklessly.  But  he  wouldn't  drop 
out  of  the  game,  and  when  Vorse  and  Sorenson  cursed 
me  and  said  for  me  to  mind  my  own  business  I  went  back 
to  a  table  near  the  rear  door  and  laid  my  head  on  my 
arms  and  went  to  sleep.  When  I  was  awake  again,  Vorse 
and  Gordon  were  holding  me  up  by  their  table  and  Jim 
was  dead  on  the  floor.  I  had  come  forward,  they  said, 
begun  a  big  row  with  Dent  and  finally  shot  him." 

"Then  the  only  witnesses  were  these  four  men  who 
were  gambling  with  him,  who  cursed  you  when  you  at- 
tempted to  persuade  him  to  drop  his  cards,"  Steele  pro- 
ceeded, "one  of  whom  was  your  political  adversary,  men 
who  were  old-timers  and  opposed  to  new-comers,  who 
pretended  to  be  your  friends  but  took  your  ranch  and 
cattle.  It  begins  to  look  to  me  as  if  they  not  only  killed 
your  friend  Dent  but  double-crossed  you  in  the  bargain. 
Did  you  look  in  your  gun  afterwards?" 

"No.  I  was  sick  with  the  horror  of  the  accusation,  I 
tell  you,  Steele.  I  had  no  way  to  deny  it ;  it  seemed  in- 
deed as  if  I  must  have  killed  him.  And  from  that  day 
until  this  I've  never  had  the  courage  of  soul  to  reload 
my  pistol,  or  even  clean  it.  It  hangs  there  on  the  wall 
with  the  very  shells,  two  empty,  the  rest  unfired,  that  it 
carried  that  day  in  San  Mateo." 


THE  RECLUSE  313 

Weir  sprang  up  and  crossed  to  the  nail  where  hung 
the  weapon.  The  latter  he  drew  from  the  holster  and 
broke  open,  so  that  the  cartridges  were  ejected  into  his 
hand.  For  an  instant  he  stared  at  them,  but  at  length 
walked  to  the  bed  before  which  he  extended  his  palm. 

"Look — look  for  yourself!"  he  exclaimed  hoarsely. 
"You  never  killed  Jim  Dent;  drunk  or  sober,  you  never 
killed  any  one.  You're  not  a  murderer.  You're  the  in- 
nocent victim  of  those  four  infamous  scoundrels;  they 
deceived  you,  they  ruined  your  life;  and  their  damnable 
fraud  not  only  killed  my  mother  in  her  youth,  as  I  guess, 
by  grief  and  despair,  but  has  brought  you  now  to  your 
death  too." 

His  father  had  raised  himself  on  an  arm  to  gaze 
incredulously  at  the  six  unfired  cartridges  lying  in 
Weir's  palm.  Then  all  at  once  his  bearded  lips  trembled 
and  a  great  light  of  joy  flashed  upon  his  face. 

"Innocent — innocent !"  he  whispered.  "Steele,  my  son, 
— Helen,  my  wife!  No  stain  on  my  soul!" 

As  he  sank  back  Steele's  arms  caught  him.  He  did 
not  speak  again,  but  his  eyes  rested  radiantly  on  his 
boy's  before  they  glazed  in  death.  Fear  had  passed 
from  them  forever. 


CHAPTER  XXXIH 

UNDER  THE  MOON 

LIGHTS  still  were  burning  at  headquarters  when  Steele 
Weir  slowly  drove  his  runabout  up  the  hillside  slope  to 
the  dam  camp.  The  men  who  had  acted  as  guards  about 
the  jail,  except  those  who  went  with  Madden,  were  some- 
where on  the  road  behind  him,  returning  home  in  the 
wagons.  A  reaction  of  mind  and  body  had  set  in  for 
Weir;  after  the  previous  night's  loss  of  sleep  and  pro- 
longed exertions,  after  the  swift  succession  of  dramatic 
events,  after  the  tremendous  call  that  had  been  made 
upon  his  brain  power,  nervous  force  and  will,  he  ex- 
perienced a  strange  unrest  of  spirit.  His  triumph 
seemed  yet  incomplete,  somehow  unsatisfying. 

It  was  as  he  approached  the  camp  that  he  saw  a 
slender  girlish  figure  sitting  on  a  rock  in  the  moonlight. 
He  swung  his  car  off  the  road  beside  the  spot  where 
Janet  Hosmer  sat. 

"What,  you  are  still  awake?"  he  asked,  with  a  smile. 

"Could  I  sleep  while  not  knowing  what  was  happening 
or  what  danger  you  might  be  in?"  she  returned.  "Mr. 
Pollock  said  we  must  not  think  of  returning  home  until 
quiet  was  restored  in  San  Mateo.  One  of  the  engineer's 
houses  was  given  to  us  by  Mr.  Meyers  before  he  left, 
where  Mary  and  I  could  sleep.  But  I  could  not  close 
my  eyes.  So  much  had  happened,  so  much  was  yet  going 
on!  So  I  came  out  here  to  be  alone  and  to  think  and 
watch." 

314 


UNDER  THE  MOON  315 

"And  your  father?" 

"He's  attending  the  wounded  Mexicans  in  the  store." 

Steel  alighted  and  tossing  his  hat  upon  the  car  seat 
gazed  out  over  the  mesa,  misty  in  the  moonlight. 

"There  will  be  no  more  trouble,"  said  he.  "Sorenson 
and  Burkhardt  are  Madden's  prisoners,  and  on  their  way 
to  a  place  of  safe-keeping  in  another  county.  Vorse  is 
dead.  The  people  in  town  have  a  fairly  good  under- 
standing of  matters  now,  I  think." 

"How  in  the  world  did  such  a  change  of  opinion  oc- 
cur?" Janet  exclaimed. 

"I  had  a  little  talk  with  the  crowd  and  made  explana- 
tions. The  feeling  for  me  was  almost  friendly  when  I 
left;  what  enmity  remains  will  soon  die  out,  I'm 
sure." 

Though  unaware  from  Steele  Weir's  laconic  statement 
of  what  had  actually  occurred,  the  girl  divined  that  his 
words  concealed  vastly  more  than  their  surface  purport. 
With  the  general  hostility  against  the  engineer  that  had 
existed,  for  him  to  swing  the  community  to  his  side  meant 
a  dramatic  moment  and  a  remarkable  moral  conquest. 

"Your  friends  have  always  known  you  would  win,"  she 
said,  smiling  up  at  him. 

He  seated  himself  on  the  rock  beside  her. 

"It's  but  a  short  time  ago,  Janet,  that  I  had  no 
friends,  or  so  few  they  could  be  counted  on  the  fingers 
of  one  hand.  Business  acquaintances,  yes.  Professional 
companions,  yes.  Men  who  perhaps  respected  my  ability 
as  an  engineer,  yes.  But  real  friends,  scarcely  one. 
And  now  I  think  I  have  gained  some,  which  is  the  great- 
est satisfaction  I  have  from  all  that  has  happened.  After 
years  the  pendulum  has  swung  to  my  side.  Do  you  know 
the  hour  my  luck  changed?" 

Janet  shook  her  head  wonderingly. 


316     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

"No,  I  can't  even  guess,"  said  she. 

"Well,  it  was  that  afternoon,  and  that  moment,  I 
found  you  sitting  in  your  stalled  car  in  the  creek  down 
there.  That  was  the  beginning.  From  that  time  things 
began  to  run  in  my  favor  and  they  haven't  ceased  to  do 
so  for  a  moment  since,  I  now  see  looking  back  over 
events.  You  brought  good  luck  to  me  that  day  in  your 
car." 

"What  an  extraordinary  idea !  Then  at  bottom  you're 
superstitious,"  Janet  replied.  "I  shall  have  to  give 
you  a  new  name;  I  must  no  longer  call  you  'Cold 
Steel.'  " 

"I  really  never  liked  that  name,"  Weir  said  quickly. 
"Perhaps  I  was  cold  steel  once,  but  I  have  changed  along 
with  everything  else.  And  you're  responsible  for  that 
too." 

Janet  leaned  forward  and  looked  into  his  eyes. 

"You  were  never  truly  harsh  to  any  one  except  those 
who  deserved  it,"  she  said.  "I  know !  You  would  never 
have  been  so  quick  to  help  Mary  Johnson  or  me,  or 
others  who  needed  help,  if  your  heart  was  not  always 
generous  and  sympathetic.  Only  against  evil  were  you 
as  steel,  and  in  moments  requiring  supreme  courage  and 
sacrifice.  And  that's  how  you  gained  the  name  before 
you  ever  came  here." 

"Anyway  I've  changed,"  said  he.  "I'm  out  from  under 
the  cloud  which  I  felt  always  hung  above  me.  As  I  say, 
you  brought  me  good  luck  that  day — and  I  see  clearly 
that  I  shall  continue  to  be  superstitious." 

"Why,  all  occasion  for  that  is  past  now." 

"No,"  said  Steele  Weir.  "No,  less  than  ever.  For 
I'm  certain  you  hold  my  good  fortune  in  your  hand  yet, 
and  will  continue  to  hold  it.  And  that  means " 

He  paused,  regarding  her  so  intensely  that  the  blood 


UNDER  THE  MOON  317 

beat  up  into  her  face.  There  was  no  mistaking  that 
look  and  it  thrilled  her  to  the  soul. 

"Yes?"  she  managed  to  say. 

"It  means  mj  happiness,  now  and  for  all  time  to 
come,"  he  went  on.  "See,  I  shall  have  accomplished 
what  I  set  out  to  do  and  what  in  justice  had  to  be  done, 
bringing  these  men  to  punishment — to  punishment  in  one 
form  or  another.  I  shall  have  given  my  employer,  the 
company,  service  worthy  of  the  hire.  I  shall  have  rid 
you  and  San  Mateo  of  an  unscrupulous  parasite  in  the 
person  of  Ed  Sorenson,  though  my  persecution  of  him 
now  shall  stop  and  I  shall  leave  him  enough  out  of  the 
property  recovered  from  his  father  to  live  in  comfort 
somewhere  with  his  mother. 

"Mr.  Pollock  states  I  shall  have  no  trouble  in  getting 
legal  title  and  possession  of  most  of  the  wealth  of  these 
four  men, — I  and  any  relatives  of  the  dead  Jim  Dent  who 
can  be  found.  For  thirty  years'  accumulated  interest 
charges  owing  me  will  swallow  up  all  the  men's  proper- 
ties. That,  however,  is  only  a  material  victory.  I  shall 
have  relieved  Johnson  of  fear  of  financial  constraint; 
and  saved  his  daughter  from  a  serious  mistake.  I  shall 
have  started  Martinez  on  the  road  to  success — and  I 
should  not  be  surprised  if  he  prospered,  became  the 
leading  attorney  in  this  county,  was  elected  judge  and 
so  on. 

"In  a  way,  too,  I  shall  have  helped  to  remove  the 
oppressive  weight  of  these  men,  Sorenson,  Burkhardt, 
Judge  Gordon  and  Vorse,  with  their  sinister  influence, 
from  this  community  and  region.  They  have  always 
held  the  natives  in  more  or  less  open  subjection,  finan- 
cial, political,  and  moral.  There  should  be  a  freer  air 
in  San  Mateo  henceforth.  The  people  will  have  a  chance 
to  grow.  They  no  longer  will  feel  the  threat  of  brutal. 


318    IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  HILLS 

masters  always  over  them;  and  with  the  completion  of 
the  irrigation  project  and  the  infusion  of  new  settlers 
they  will  become  better  citizens. 

"I  see  all  this,"  he  concluded.  "It  pleases  me ;  it  gives 
me  cause  for  satisfaction.  But  it  doesn't  give  me  the 
liappiness  I  want,  or  the  love.  That  is  alone  in  your 
hands  to  bestow." 

Janet  felt  herself  trembling;  she  could  not  speak. 

"I  think  I  felt  the  stirring  of  love  from  the  moment  I 
saw  you  there  at  the  ford,"  he  exclaimed.  "Last  night 
when  I  knew  that  wretch  had  carried  you  off  to  the 
mountains,  I  could  have  torn  him  limb  from  limb.  That 
was  my  love  speaking,  Janet.  If  I  should  have  to  go 
through  life  without  you — oh,  the  thought  is  too  bitter 
to  dwell  on! — then  I  should  think  life  not  worth  living. 
But  I  have  imagined  that  you  might  have  for  me  a 
little " 

Janet  swiftly  clasped  his  hand  with  her  own. 

"I  love  you,"  she  cried  softly.  "I  was  sitting  here 
when  you  came  because  I  loved  you.  If  I  am  necessary 
to  your  happiness,  you  also  are  necessary  to  mine.  I 
honor  you  for  what  you  have  done  and  love  you  for  what 
you  are,  a  strong  true  heart." 

"Ah,  Janet,  you  give  me  the  greatest  joy  in 
the  world,"  he  whispered.  "Love — that  is  more  than 
all." 

His  arms  drew  her  to  his  breast.  Her  lips  went  to 
his  in  consecration  of  that  love.  Their  hearts  beat  the 
rapture  of  that  love. 

Over  the  silent  peaceful  mountains  the  moon  spread 
its  effulgent  light.  Over  the  mesa  that  was  no  more  to 
know  the  fierce  sound  of  strife.  Over  the  town,  at  last 
free  of  its  avaricious  masters,  free  of  the  savage  spirit 
of  an  outlaw  time.  Over  the  Burntwood  River  flowing 


UNDER  THE  MOON  319 

in  a  shimmering  band  to  the  horizon.  Over  the  camp 
where  centered  so  many  men's  plans  and  labors.  And 
over  the  lovers,  chief  of  all,  that  light  fell  as  in  a  silvery 
halo. 


THE   END 


A     000  036  205     3 


